From Impossibilities Come Miracles
by bballgirl32
Summary: "Meeting you was fate, befriending you was a choice, but falling in love with you, I had no control over." He tries to ignore her, but no matter the danger, a Death Eater finds himself falling for a Mudblood he's despised his whole life. DM/HG
1. Chapter 1

Dark clouds. Dirt. Headstones. A dead Muggle that he had to step over, unseeing brown eyes staring up a him. Draco Malfoy only caught bits and pieces of his surroundings. His brain felt as if someone had packed it with gauze, and he could not focus on anything other than the dark form of his mother in front of him.

Even as his terror reached its peak, with his heart hammering against his ribcage, Draco couldn't make himself ask questions. Despite his mother dragging him off without a word, the young Malfoy was smart enough to realize that sometimes being in the dark was better than knowing the whole truth. Right now, he knew, was one of those times.

As they walked on, it seemed to grow darker, while the air thickened to the point where it felt as if though they were walking through mud. He could feel it dragging him down. It crawled across his skin, and clogged his mouth and nose. Every breath was a challenge, and impending doom washed over him as he trudged forward. Darkness seemed to slowly replace the blood that ran through his veins, until his face had subconsciously arranged itself in a frightening glower, and his soul had seemed to become completely extinguished. Yet, despite this, there was no anger in the boy. Even his fear had left, sucked from his body by something unnatural. Seconds later, when his mother had stopped, Draco vaguely realized, as if he were thinking through a haze, just what had caused the feeling.

"Narcissa," a snakelike voice hissed.

"My Lord," his mother said. Her voice held traces of fear, but also a forced respect. She bowed to the ground and Draco followed suit.

"I am pleased to see you again, especially after your hard work," Voldemort said, his dark, snakelike eyes looking from Narcissa to her son. When Draco glanced up, his stomach managed to twist just slightly when he noticed that the look was almost like one that a proud father would give his son.

"The pleasure is all mine, My Lord," Narcissa said, shooting her son a meaningful look.

"Anything for you, Master," Draco uttered, his voice low and soft, but steady. Fear was hiding somewhere in his chest, but it was muted, indistinct.

"Quite the contrary, my faithful servants. Today, I am truly excited to have you in my presence, for I have splendid news to impart to you." The pale creature took an eerily graceful step forward, so that he was standing directly in front of the younger Malfoy. It was almost calming, Draco thought. His emotions dulled more and more, until he could feel nothing but a faint hint of the intense fear that the very back of his brain knew he harbored for the Dark Lord.

"Draco Malfoy," he breathed, his foul breath tickling Draco's face. "You have served me well, without hesitation, and with loyalty that I have rarely seen."

"It has been my honor," the young man said.

"You are brave, Draco," Voldemort told him, putting an icy hand under his chin, tilting his face up so that he could peer into Draco's cold, unflinching eyes. "In fact, I do believe, that you have earned yourself a spot among my closest followers."

"My Lord," he muttered, utterly shocked, "I would be honored." Somewhere, in the confines of his bugged down brain, he knew this wasn't true. He knew very well that this was a death sentence. But with Voldemort touching him, looking into his soul, taking away his ability to think and feel, the words that were coming out of his mouth seemed to be perfectly logical.

"Then, Draco Malfoy, I do believe that it is time. You, are my newest Death Eater." Then, he reached a long, bony hand into his robes and pulled out his wand. Lifting Draco's left arm, he pointed the wand to his pale forearm and mumbled something. Before Draco could comprehend exactly what was going on, stabs of fierce pain shot up from the place where the Dark Lords wand had touched, as if someone had lit his skin on fire. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes in an attempt to prevent himself from crying out, but a single sob wrenched its way out from his lips.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the fiery pain was gone, replaced by eerie cold. Draco immediately looked at his arm in fear that it'd been burned off, but instead, he was meant with a sight that made his already pale skin turn ghostly white. Tattooed on his inner left forearm was a skull with a fierce black snake winding out of its mouth. Suddenly, even the effect of the Lord Dark couldn't keep terror from suddenly seeping into his heart.

"I-I am honored," Draco choked out, keeping his silver eyes trained on the ground.

"You have earned it," Voldemort said, a dark kind of pride seeping into his voice. It wasn't so much pride as it was the knowledge that Draco was an immensely powerful young wizard who had been raised to become a Death Eater his entire life. Voldemort had plans for the boy, great plans. But first, he had to truly test the boy's loyalty.

"My Lord, my son and I thank you for your kindness," Narcissa Malfoy said, her face glowing with actual, true pride, unlike the twisted, selfish version that Voldemort felt towards the boy.

"He deserves it. But now, I am afraid that he has to prove his true loyalty towards me, to prove that this decision hasn't been a… fatal mistake."

Draco looked up at the heinous creature that was standing in front of him.

"Anything, My Lord."

"First, the time has come. Harry Potter is getting stronger, and taking him down soon is an utmost necessity. Now, however, with all those opposing me, I'm afraid that taking no one except for him down is simply not an option. Draco, I believe that in addition to Potter, we must first get rid of those close to him. Draco, you need to get his two friends out of the way. Granger is powerful, and Weasley is pigheaded, and I have a feeling that they could cause problems for us if we left them to do what they pleased."

The task made Draco truly sick, and he could feel his heart beating faster.

"Does that mean that I must kill them?" he asked shakily. The evil wizard laughed.

"That would be…preferable, but as long as they aren't in my way when the time comes, you will be fine." His mother gave him a gentle, encouraging look, and Draco nodded his head, the tight feeling in his chest loosening just slightly.

"Yes, My Lord. I will get it done. Is that all?"

"That is my lesser task for you," Voldemort hissed, his eyes gleaming with what could only be considered joy. "What I truly want you to do, is get rid of a bigger nuisance for me. I'm afraid that, at the present moment, it would be easier for you to take care of this task, simply because it is much easier to kill those who trust you. And yes, I said kill. Getting rid of this person simply will not do. He must be in buried deep the ground for your task to be considered completed."

Draco's mouth suddenly went dry, and his eyes reflected the crazy dread that was burning away the last of the fog that had been enshrouding his head. His mother, seeing this, took his hand and squeezed it gently. That gentle squeeze reminded Draco of just why he needed to do this, what he was fighting for.

"Who, may I ask, do you wish for me to take care of?" Draco inquired. His voice was steady, and his face was composed from years of practice. He wondered if Voldemort could read his mind, could feel what he was really feeling. He glanced at the Dark Mark, which was cold enough that it almost burned him. How deep was the connection that it had given him to the Dark Lord? Could that heinous snake possibly know what was running through his head? He shook the possibility away.

"Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort said, a happy sneer in his voice, as if he found happiness in turning sixteen year old boys into monsters. Draco suddenly felt even colder. He wondered if his blood would freeze. If he was going to get frostbite. Maybe he'd die from it. Maybe this cold would just kill him, and get all of this weight off of his shoulders. If he were dead, would Voldemort still come after his family? Would he lower the guillotine that was hanging over his mother's neck, or would he let her go, realizing that there was no reason to keep her.

He'd still kill her, even if it was just for fun, Draco told himself in an effort to extinguish the horrible thoughts of suicide that had sprung into his mind.

"I would be glad to," Draco said smoothly. Voldemort stretched his papery thin lips into something that if they looked very closely, a person may read as a smile.

"Very good. Now, go, and get started. You have until the end of the year at Hogwarts to complete these tasks, because that is when I plan to strike. I can only hope that you do them well. If you fail," Voldemort said, his thin fingers squeezing Draco's chin, "your fellow Death Eaters will enjoy eating your entrails for breakfast. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," the young Malfoy said.

"Good. Then I shall be seeing you soon. Don't forget, Draco." There was a cool breeze, a flash of light, and the Dark Lord had disappeared. He hadn't apparated, but had merely just vanished.

Draco turned his attention to his mother, taking in her watering eyes and deep, ragged breathing.

"Draco," she said.

"We have to go," he told her. She swallowed and grabbed his arm, apparating back to Malfoy Manor.

There, she immediately collapsed onto a thick leather sofa, now letting her tears flow freely. She knew that Malfoys shouldn't cry like that, but she couldn't help it. She may not have truly loved Lucius, and her own life wasn't very precious to her either, but that of her son, her dearest son, was more important to her than anything else in the world, and now he was put in a horrible position.

"Mother, it's going to be okay, I can do this," he told her, although his words were forced.

"You aren't a killer," she told him softly. He sat down beside her and leaned his head on hers while holding his mother tightly, trying to hold her together. She was the strongest woman he had ever met, and he didn't want to be the one who caused her to break.

"For you, I can become one," he insisted, trying almost as hard to get himself to believe it as her. Neither one of them bought that, however, and both of them knew that no words could convince them. So they just ditched the promises, and held each other, both of them trying to keep it together when everything felt so much like it was falling apart.

"I want father home," Draco finally spit out. "I want that bloody bastard here, so that he can see what he's done to us!" Narcissa shook her head.

"The Dark Lord had twisted his mind," she said firmly. "He didn't know what he was doing."

"I know," he mumbled to his mother. "I just wish that I didn't have to pay for what he did."

"I wish you didn't either," she told him. "But is there another choice." Draco sighed. He knew that. He knew his duty.

"Maybe, maybe now I can prove myself," the young boy said hopefully. "If I can succeed, maybe he'll forgive our family for Father's mistake." Narcissa smiled sadly.

"We can only hope," she said, holding her son more tightly. They stayed like that for a long time, hoping and praying that they could survive this. Other than Narcissa, no one cared about Draco, and vice versa. They were all each other had, and neither one of them wanted to lose the other. Despite that, both of them doubted that their family would survive this in one piece. Those thoughts weren't voiced, of course, and instead were left inside them, to grow and wreak havoc on their minds.

That night, Draco sat in his room and thought about the task that he'd been given. Not the one that included killing Dumbledore. That one, he'd pushed completely to the back of his mind. The one that he spent his time contemplating was one that didn't have to end in death. He just had to figure out how to get the Weasel and Mudblood out of the way for a while, towards the end of the year. There had to be some kind of plan or solution, he thought, and he'd find it if there was.

He liked figuring things out, that'd been evident since a very young age. As he grew, he started attempting to develop his own potions and spells, or to find different ways to do things than everything else. In class, because his father had taught him most of the information at an early age, he'd attempt to think up different ways to do things in attempt to fend off boredom, and was often successful. There seemed to just be something in his brain that could look at things in a different way, and come up with answers.

That's the approach that Draco used when faced with the problem of getting rid of Potter's friends. His first thought was to threaten them and hopefully get their parents to send for them, but he tucked that away as a last resort because there were so many other things that could go wrong. He could get easily caught, for one thing, and he knew that they'd have to be on Death's door to leave that school anyway.

He also realized that maybe he could gain their trust, and try to convince them to leave for their safety, but that wouldn't work. First, there was no way in hell that he was going to spend that much time with them, and it isn't like they'd trust him anyway. He thought of a few other options, but couldn't settle on anything that'd work.

Then, as he was about to give up, he thought of the perfect thing. He didn't necessarily need to get Granger and Weasel out of the way. All that was really necessary was to keep them from interfering, and if they weren't Potter's friends, then they wouldn't. If he could disband the Three Musketeers, his task would be accomplished. They wouldn't interfere with the Dark Lord's work. He smiled to himself, pleased when he felt a miniscule piece of the heavy weight leave his chest. It wasn't much, and it didn't help his more difficult plan, but it was a start.

That night, he fell asleep easily despite the fact that the place where his Dark Mark had been seared into his skin seemed to be chilled to the bone.

He was pleasantly surprised, until he realized that just because he fell asleep quickly, didn't necessarily mean that he was going to stay asleep. Once he was immersed in dreamland, and his thoughts were no longer under his strict control, all of his worries slipped into his dreams. He dreamt that he had Dumbledore cornered, a wand at his neck, but that he broke down and couldn't do it. Then Voldemort's snake-like face appeared, sneering at him, his eyes dancing with amusement at Draco's failure. He saw him raise his wand and kill his father, and then, because he knew that Draco truly loved his mother, he wasn't even decent enough to murder her. Instead, the Dark Lord performed the Cruciatus, and Draco was forced to watch his mother writhe in what he knew to be the worst pain imaginable. Then, after watching that for an agonizingly long time, he killed her. He dreamt of rushing over to her, and seeing nothing but a blank, blue stare.

With that, Draco jolted awake. His throat was hoarse, so he knew that he'd been screaming, but he also was positive that no one heard him in the vast house. He was drenched with sweat, and everything felt cold. Too cold. For a second, he imagined that everything, even him becoming a Death Eater, had been a dream. Then he looked at his arm and saw the Dark Mark, and felt his stomach twist terribly.

"Lord, help me," he muttered, laying his head back down and squeezing his eyes shut, as if that'd make it all go away.

Later that day, Draco had dragged himself out of bed, and was sitting in his library, a thick volume resting in his lap in a desperate attempt to bury himself in words, when one of their many house elves popped into the room. He jumped slightly at the sudden appearance of the bug-eyed creature, but recovered just as quickly.

"Master Malfoy," the small elf said. "Your mother wishes for your presence in the dining room as soon as possible. She insists that you dress formally, for someone very important has come, and she has had a fabulous supper prepared."

"I will be right down," Draco told the elf, which then disappeared with a loud 'crack'.

The boy, fearing that someone had figured out what he was and was planning on harming him and his mother, rushed out of his library and hustled through the many pristine marble hallways of Malfoy Manor with the utmost urgency in his step.

He knew that his mother had guests over all the time, and that there was no reason to worry, but worrying for her had become his full past time. He knew that Voldemort could kill her whenever he saw fit, and he knew that Voldemort's enemies would kill her whenever they got the chance. She was the one person he cared about, and she was safe nowhere.

That thought propelled him to clean up quickly, simply ordering a House Elf to grab something nice for him while he hastily combed his hair and scrubbed his face. Then he quickly changed and jogged through the hallways, fixing the buttons on his jacket as he stumbled into their grand dining room.

His gray eyes scanned the room, taking in every little detail. The long oak table was covered in a silken emerald cloth. There were three white china plates set out, with silver napkins underneath. The heavy chairs were all empty, although the brilliant diamond chandelier was shining with light, indicating that people were expected soon. A tall, dark haired butler stepped forward when he saw the young Malfoy enter the room.

"Please, have a seat. Your mother and her guest will be here shortly."

"Who is it?" Draco asked. He tried to order the answer out of him, but he was too worried to put the right amount of venom in his voice.

"The Mistress wishes to surprise you," he said. Before he could ask anymore questions, his mother walked gracefully into the room, a tight smile pasted onto her face. Her eyes were nervous, and when the next person stepped up behind her, Draco knew why.

"I appreciate your hurry," Narcissa said, brushing a loose strand of blonde hair from her pale face.

"What is she doing here?" Draco growled, glowering at the woman who was standing behind his mother in obvious distaste. She was tall and thin, and actually may have been strikingly beautiful if she hadn't appeared to have been a likely candidate for Voldemort's wife. Her features were elegant and flawless, her pale white skin smooth as ivory. Even her black eyes could have been good-looking an exotic way. That is, if they weren't filled with such a crazy, psychopathic hate. It made Draco feel as if he were nothing but a child. Just a foolish child that could never do anything with his life.

Her hair flew around her head in a wild black tornado which made her look slightly un-stable, especially when paired with those crazy eyes. Then there was that unmistakable sneer. Draco knew her. His aunt. Bellatrix Lestrange. He'd never met her in person, but there was no mistaking just who is was. Voldemort's best buddy.

"You have certainly grown," the dark witch said, playing the part of a normal, friendly aunt.

"Shit, I thought they would have caught you by now. I truthfully wish they would have. Azkaban is the one place where you belong." His aunt's eyes flared dangerously, and she slid her wand out of her pocket, not pointing it at him, but simply allowing him to see it, as a warning, perhaps.

"Draco," Narcissa snapped at him, shooting him a warning glare. He couldn't help but roll his eyes at her. He hated his aunt, even though he hadn't met her. She'd left his father to fight for himself at the ministry the past year. His failure there is what led to Draco's position now. Sure, his father was stupid for ever becoming a Death Eater, and he shouldn't have let himself get caught like that, but it was also her fault. She could have saved him. Instead, she ran like a coward. There were so many people to blame for Draco's father's imprisonment, but none were quite as easy as Voldemort's right hand man, or woman, or whatever the miserable thing standing before him was.

"Watch yourself," Bellatrix warned.

"You could've saved him," Draco hissed at her. The witch's high, piercing laughs cut his ears, all while making his blood boil with fierce anger.

"Your fool of a father shouldn't have needed saving. If he wasn't as pathetic as a wizard as he was as a Death Eater, then he could've gotten out of there." Draco's hand automatically reached into his pocket, where his wand was. Bellatrix, seeing this, raised her own in the air.

"Don't even think about it." Narcissa's eyes pleaded with her son, begging him to think about what he was doing. He was too angry to care. The boy was miserable. He hated his life. He had an impossible task laid out before him. Now, some stupid bitch had just showed up and started rubbing all of this in his face. He didn't care that he'd started it. She was in his house, and he hated her.

"Do your worst," he taunted, quite foolishly actually. Most witches would have sent him a final glare and put the wand away, trying to end the impending fight. But she was a Death Eater, and one of the fiercest. Never had she walked away from an opportunity like this, even if she was to curse one of her own flesh and blood., even one who was another Death Eater.

"Crucio," she said with a maniacal smile. Draco didn't think she was serious, not at first. Then he felt it. He felt his organs getting eaten away with acid, the burning that went bone-deep, the way his skin started to rip and tear and his brain shook back and forth in his skull, banging around in an effort to get free.

He stayed standing, barely, leaning against the wall for support. A vein was bulging out of his forehead, and he was biting his tongue hard enough that it was bleeding, the salty taste of blood bursting through his mouth. Of course, he hardly noticed it. He was too busy burning, too busy trying not to show weakness, trying not to scream in complete and utter agony.

It was painful, but he'd experienced it before. His father had done it to him, many times in fact. He'd cursed him whenever he wasn't happy with him, as early as second year, when he learned that Granger had gotten better scores than him. So it wasn't the first time he'd felt it. It was, however, the first time that he wouldn't let himself succumb to it. It was the first time that he allowed no screaming, that he locked the pain inside of him.

"Scream," she ordered, "or I won't stop." Draco's brain begged him to just scream. He wanted to scream. He could hear his mother, distantly, order her sister to stop it, but despite the pain this was causing her, he wouldn't allow himself to give his aunt what she wanted. Instead, he started laughing hysterically, as the pain had gotten to the point where it was almost funny. He leaned against the wall, hunched over, his face twisted into an unrecognizable mask, but he was laughing as though he'd never stop, even though so much as opening his mouth caused more pain to bubble up inside of his stomach and creep out his throat.

"You're bloody crazy," he choked out between his psychotic laughter. The pain in his voice almost knocked his mother to the floor. She begged him to stop, or at least he think she did, for he couldn't really hear the words. He was slipping away, the pain driving him into unconsciousness, or maybe even insanity. Just as he felt himself falling into a sweet bed of beautiful nothingness, the edges of his vision turning black, his sweet auntie decided that he'd had enough. She stopped. Draco's laughing stopped as his stomach squeezed and bile rose in his throat. His brain was fuzzy, he couldn't see straight, and he was sick. So he shook his head, blinked a few times, and swallowed the bile.

"May we eat now?" he asked, perfectly composedly, although inside, he wasn't composed at all. The pain had messed with his head, and his thoughts were flying around like hundreds of golden snitches, and he wasn't able to grab on to any of them.

"Impressive, Boy. No wonder our Dark Lord is so impressed with you. You've got potential."

"I'm honored that you think so," he said, somewhat sarcastically. Okay, his voice was practically oozing with sarcasm. His aunt, who wasn't revered for her stupidity, noticed.

"Of course you are," she said in a very similar tone. Narcissa Malfoy simply watched nervously, her eyes barely ever leaving her son's ghostly white face. That bugged Draco, but he knew she was just worried. Why wouldn't she be? Her psychopathic sister decided to drop in for a cup of tea, and her only son was soon to be knocking on death's door unless he could think up a brilliant plan to kill one of the greatest wizards of all time, and relatively quickly. It was almost worse for her than it was for Draco. Almost.

The happy family sat down to eat then, although Draco couldn't choke anything down. The curse had made him queasy, and he didn't feel anywhere near normal. He tried to force some chicken down his throat, but simply couldn't do it.

"Am I needed here, or may I return to the library?" he asked his mother cautiously.

"You may go. I just need to talk to your aunt."

"Now, Cissy, I think that Draco should be part of this conversation as well." Cissy. What a nickname. It disgusted Draco. Something like that creature should not get away with calling his mother something so disrespectful, especially when it made them sound like best buddies.

"Let him go," Narcissa pleaded, wanted her son away from her sister as soon as possible. In response, Bellatrix raised her wand. If she'd pointed it at Draco, he would've kept his mouth shut, but when its tip happened to end up in the direction of his mother's throat, well, he decided he sure as hell wasn't leaving her.

"I'm staying," Draco said quickly, not wanting his mother to get hurt. Besides, if he stayed, maybe Bellatrix would be less likely to harm him later on as well.

"Fine," his mother said.

"Don't worry," the dark witch assured her. "This is going to be very quick. I just wish to talk about a request of the Dark Lord. He believes that my young nephew should be….trained." Draco felt cold again. Narcissa looked at her sister in disbelief.

"I hate you," Draco spat.

"I hate you, too," Bellatrix said in the same tone that one would use to tell a family member that they loved them, not the opposite. Then, her pealing laughter ringing through the hall, she got up and left, stopping at the last second and yelling, "See you tomorrow, Draco," before leaving the Manor.

"Mother," Draco said, trying his hardest not to whine.

"Are you okay?" Narcissa asked, putting a hand on his arm.

"It's not like I'm not used to the curse," he told her dryly.

"Your father did it for your own good," she said, weakly defending the wizard who'd gotten them in this sticky position in the first place.

"I hate him, too." His mother leaned toward her son, trying to brush his messy blonde hair out of his face. Draco, not appreciating the gesture at all, shrugged out from under her hand.

"You have so much hate," she told him softly. "It isn't healthy." He simply snorted.

"My father's a Malfoy and my mother's a Black. What else would you expect?" Narcissa smiled sadly and let out a quiet sigh.

"It isn't the blood," she told her son wearily. "It has more to do with the way you've been raised." Draco shook his head.

"You're blaming yourself. What you need to do is point your finger at my stupid arsehole of a father, if anyone." She tried to fix his hair again, but he shook off her hand in protest.

"Maybe you're right, but it's my fault as well. I let him do that to you, I let him do everything. If we could've gotten out before this mess-"

"The Dark Lord would have tracked us down and killed us for running away," Draco finished for her, his tone indicating that there was no room for argument. She looked down.

"You're right, you're right. Sometimes, sometimes it's just hard to deal with the cards you've been given, and right now, I'm having that problem."

"Don't worry," Draco urged her. "I'll do what I'm supposed to, and everything will be fine. I'm sure of it."

Then she sighed again.

"You're right. It isn't over yet." Then Draco departed to his library to spend the night reading (he couldn't go to sleep, not with the nightmares), and his mother sat at that table staring into thin air until a butler urged her to get some rest.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Draco was woken by the library door getting slammed back against the wall. He chose to ignore it, instead further burying his face in the book that he'd fallen asleep on.

"Come, come Draco, it is time that we start," his aunt said in a chipper voice that sounded completely out of place with her wicked appearance.

"Huh?" he asked groggily, praying that the voice was simply a piece of one of his nightmares. Bellatrix, already impatient with her nephew, flicked her wand, and he was thrown out of his chair and onto the hard wooden floor. That's when he really woke up, scrambling onto his feet and reaching for a wand he didn't have.

"Good, your awake," she said pleasantly, as if she hadn't thrown him onto the floor moments earlier. "Now, it's time for our training to begin."

For the next month, the month before Draco's sixth year at Hogwarts, his aunt taught him for hours every day. Memories of similar lessons with his father flew into his head every once and a while, but these were longer and harder. He learned Occlumency, which he excelled at, most likely due to his skill at suppressing his emotions. Bellatrix also taught him spells that only dark wizards would dare to use, spells that he was scared to ever try on a living person. She even went so far as to show him the Unforgivable Curses, forcing him to test them out on rats until he was nearly as skilled at them as she was.

He learned other things, too, things that weren't as horrible. Countless useful spells, different types of transfiguration, and extremely advanced nonverbal spells, which became a kind of specialty of his. Even his aunt was impressed by how quickly he picked those up.

In addition to all the spells he was taught, his aunt had also trained Draco physically. She taught him fighting moves, and made sure that he was in near perfect shape. She was one of the only ones who knew just how important he was to Voldemort, and she didn't want him getting beat up if he was caught without his wand. She pushed him and pushed him, until he'd be able to beat almost any student in the school to a pulp if a fight came down to hand to hand combat.

Actually, all of the training wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected. Sure, Bellatrix was cruel, and he harbored a hate towards the dark witch that couldn't be rivaled, even by Potter and his friends, but he enjoyed being challenged. At Hogwarts, he'd never needed to try. Everything was extremely easy for him, so being pushed for once wasn't that bad. It even helped his bad mood because he felt like now he truly was above many of the wizards in Voldemort's inner circle, going so far as to outperform his teacher on several occasions.

That good mood continued on until just a week before school started, when his mother convinced Bellatrix to give him a day off so that they could shop for all of his school supplies.

That morning, his mother and he had started out by going to Madam Malkin's for new robes. Draco, after picking out the finest school robes that the store offered, looked over the racks of merchandise that lined the small shop, simply passing the time as his mother searched for a new pair of dress robes for her son, a useless gift, no doubt in a feeble attempt to make up for everything else he had to go through.

"Draco, come over here," his mother ordered. Hiding his annoyance, Draco strode over to her and flung the emerald green robes she'd been holding out over his head. They were too big, although the length was right, because of how skinny he was. He'd already sat through getting his school ones magically tailored, and he dreaded having to sit through that again for useless dress robes.

"These fit fine," he notified them, trying to shrug them back over his head before either of the two women could see how saggy they were on him.

"Keep them on," his mother ordered. "They looked much too big." Draco held back a growl before letting the robes fall onto his shoulders once again.

"You're too thin," Madam Malkin scolded once she got a better look, grabbing some pins out of her robes. Draco glared at her, hating the way that she sounded like it was actually her business how much he weighed.

"My Draco is just perfect," his mother argued, and Draco wasn't sure what was worse, Madam Malkin doting on his like his grandmother, or his mother treating him like he was still in diapers. My Draco? Seriously? That's obviously the way that a person would address a Death Eater. He hated the feeling of someone looking out for him like that. He didn't need help, and his mother didn't, couldn't, seem to realize that.

"Of course he is," the shop owner agreed airily, as if she just didn't want to offend his mother. Draco almost smiled at her amusingly complacent attitude. Almost. If she hadn't stuck him with a pin.

"Draco, stay still," his mother told him. He raised his hands innocently, a habit of his, and got pricked by another pin. "Hey, watch it," he snapped. His order was met by a mumbled apology, as well as a glare from his mother.

At that moment the bell dinged to announce someone's entrance. Draco craned his neck to see who it was, but didn't catch a glimpse of the new customers until he saw their reflections in the mirror. He immediately felt sick and had to remind himself to feel the hate that he usually felt towards the three wizards who walked into the shop at that moment.

"If you're wondering what that stench is, a Mudblood just walked in," he drawled to his mother as Harry Potter and his two friends walked into the store. A scowl so fierce that you needed Malfoy blood to pull it off crept across Draco's face.

"Watch your language," the store-owner scolded, then she glanced at Harry and Ron, both of whom had their wands raised. "And I will not have you drawing your wands in my shop." Draco chortled at their telling off, then stopped when he caught another look from his mother.

"I ought to kill you, Malfoy," Weasley told him, giving him a look that could take out butterflies. His wand was still up. Even just that statement made his heart beat faster, because really, pretty soon, if his plans didn't work, there actually would be killing.

"What did I do now?" Draco wondered idly, keeping his composure the way he'd been able to since he was a toddler.

"You called Hermione a-a-"

"Mudblood?" Draco asked, causing Madam Malkin to shake her head. "Incase you haven't noticed, I've been doing that for years." Ron's anger at that truly did amuse him, for the very reason he stated. To him, it had become more or less just his name for her. Sure, he still meant it to sound nasty, but it was something now specially reserved for Granger, and therefore a name.

"Your father had been murdering innocent people for years," Ron growled, "and that never made it right." Even just the mention of his father made Draco angry. He stiffened just marginally, but kept his face a smooth mask. It took everything that he had not to pull out his wand and torture Weasley at that very moment. The Malfoy boy had been working on his temper, and it usually took a lot to provoke him, but the Weasel King seemed to have a talent for finding the exact nerves that he needed to hit.

"Do not mention my father," growled Draco. Narcissa put a light hand on his shoulder, just incase his temper did flare a little too hotly.

Ron was about to make another retort when Granger put her hand on his arm and sent him a warning look.

"Ron, he isn't worth it."

"Really, Granger," Draco said with a sneer. "I think that it'd be an honor for your friend to so much as hex me." Ron's face grew redder and redder, even as the Mudblood whispered at him to calm down. Draco started to make a comment about the way he was sputtering in his anger, but Madam Malkin, who had decided to play deaf, as if the confrontation wasn't happening, chose that moment to try to adjust his left sleeve.

Even the Three Musketeers couldn't distract him from the woman who was only inches away from his darkest secret. He jumped as though he'd been shocked and tore his arm away from the startled store-keeper.

"Mother," Draco said, his voice not quite steady, as he knew how close he'd been to being discovered. "I no longer wish to shop here, not when I see what kind of trash does." Narcissa, who simply wanted to be away from the three people who seemed so intent on torturing her beloved son, was eager to get away as well.

"I agree. They sell nothing but rags here," she said. With that, Draco tore the robes he'd been trying on off, threw them on the floor, and began walking out, intending on ramming into Weasley as a parting gift. The only problem was that Ron, seeing what he was going to do, roughly pushed him away, sending him flying straight at the filthy Mudblood.

He stumbled into her, pushing her back against the wall. For a second he didn't digest what had happened and just stayed there, wondering where the smell of lavender had come from. Then he realized just exactly who he was pushed up against. He jumped back as though he'd just come in contact with acid. She looked just as disgusted, appearing as though she were going to throw up.

Draco started to mutter something at her, then saw that look and just stalked out in fury. Why would she be so disgusted? She should've been honored to so much as touch him. He was the one who'd come into contact with the scum of the earth. That horrible look, and from a Mudblood at that, made him almost feel sick. She had no right to look at him like that. It drove him crazy.

"I'm going to have to burn these clothes to get the stench off," he muttered to his mother, really trying not to think about how she actually smelled somewhat decent. Narcissa simply nodded.

"We need your books now," Narcissa then said, wishing to get out of Diagon Alley as quickly as possible after that confrontation. She was worried that her son would meet up with those three again, and that the next time, an actual fight would break out.

"You have the list. Why don't you go and get them," Draco suggested, none too friendlily. Since meeting those three, his mood wasn't the best. Really, he'd rather be listening to his aunt cuss him out than getting disgusted looks from Granger. No one, absolutely no one, ever looked at Draco like that.

"Draco," his mother scolded. "It's too dangerous for you to wander by yourself." He didn't agree with that by any means. _What, is a random auror going to come up to me and order me to roll my sleeves up? _

"You know how badly I hate crowds," the Slytherin insisted.

"You can stand them an hour longer. I don't want you going anywhere by yourself," she said again. "Look at the scum making its home here." Then she gestured around Diagon Alley, her eyes landing on the vagabonds pushing around piles of junk for sale, and the shady looking merchants standing behind carts with bright signs that proclaimed they had things to keep you safe from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"Fine," said Draco, not thinking that it was fine at all. He did comply, however, and trailed after his mother as she picked out his books, all new and hard covered, trying to ignore the people pushing and prodding him in every direction. He was used to being in control, to having the odds in his favor. When he was surrounded by others, those odds went away, and even though he cursed and pushed them roughly aside as if he were herding cattle, he couldn't help but imagine how easily they could turn and gang up on him. He took a deep breath, but it didn't help him much, as the air was contaminated by body heat and the stench of perfume and sweat.

"Mother," he complained. She plucked one more book off of a shelf, then turned to look at her son. Draco made sure to keep his face a blank slate, all too aware of her lack of understanding towards his distaste of large groups of people. Although she did not push him into obedience as his father had, she didn't hide the fact that she did not want her son to become a 'hermit' who lived in his library, or spent all his time chasing a golden snitch around their back yard. She had made that clear to him as soon as she'd seen his discomfort start to grow. He was a Malfoy, she'd told him, and therefore required to become a socialite. So far, that was the lone aspect in which her son had truly disappointed her.

"That was the last one," she told him regretfully, as though she'd rather force him to stay in the crowded bookstore longer than needed for practice. She didn't, despite the regretful look on her face when she saw him step out into the alley and breathe deeply in relief. Once again, the air was tainted, but it was more pure than inside the store, and he made do with it.

When they were done at the book store, they made a quick stop at the apothecary, then headed to Eeylop's Owl Emporium to pick up treats for his large eagle owl, Avada. When they were finished there, as an award for being made Quidditch Captain, and his O.W.L. scores (they'd been Outstandings all the way across the board, save for Divination, in which he'd gotten an Excellent), his mother insisted that they stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies, where she bought him a new Firebolt, just like Potter's. The broom itself didn't make him particularly happy, but at least he wouldn't have to see his rival show off his stupid broom like he was better than Draco because some rich fool had given it to him as a present. That thought gave him a marginal degree of what Draco had always assumed to be happiness.

A week later, he was heading back to Hogwarts, and by that time he had hundreds of new tricks up his sleeve from his little lessons with his aunt. To go along with that was a new chip on his shoulder that was sure to be noticed by his fellow students.

_Maybe now Pansy will finally stay away from me, _he thought dryly as he gave his mother one last hug and stepped onto the train. Draco, despite being known as a player, hated all of the girls at the school with a passion. Actually, he hated everyone at the school with a passion. They were all thick-headed and stupid and hadn't lived through anything. Not even Harry Potter, whom everyone pitied, whom they all loved. _"Oh,"_ everyone would say, _"It's so tragic, what happened to him. That poor boy." _

Tragic? Tragic wasn't having your parents killed before you could even speak. Tragic was having your father curse you and hex you and expect you to be perfect. Tragic was listening to him scream and fight with your mother every night because his head was so twisted. Tragic was him getting arrested when you were just fifteen, and then being punished because he was pathetic enough to get caught in the first place. Tragic was becoming a Death Eater when you were sixteen, and then being told to tear apart one of the strongest friendships you've ever seen, and worse, kill an innocent man, only to be met with certain death for yourself and your family if you failed.

Harry Potter knew nothing. Every soul in that school knew nothing. They were stupid, and foolish, and he hated them for it. Even though his hands grew sweaty and his chest felt heavier when he stepped into the cramped (but not even half full) prefects' carriage, he knew that his hate for the minds and feelings of his fellow students was much worse than any reaction he had to them physically.

Draco's presence had an immediate impact on the cheerful mood that everyone seemed to carry. Everything got quiet, and tension added to the thickness that he'd already felt in the air. All eyes were very obviously turned away from him, and a quiet fear radiated off of most of those in the carriage. Then, Pansy Parkinson, oblivious to everyone else's attitude, gave him a psychotic smile and a peck on his cheek. The stupid Weasel fake gagged when he saw that, which in addition to breaking the tension, earned him a glare not only from Draco, but Granger as well. Draco chuckled as he listened to the Mudblood chastise Weasley for acting like a three year old. Draco found it amusing that even his stupid girlfriend thought he was an idiot.

"How many O.W.L.s did you get?" Pansy asked Draco once the conversation had started up again. Draco smirked and looked directly at Granger. He knew very well that the best way to get to someone was to hit them right where it hurt, and in the Mudblood's case, it was her belief that she was smarter than everyone in the school.

Draco, for a fact, knew this to be wrong. The previous year, maybe with a little help from Umbridge, he'd finished with top scores in nearly half his classes, and tied her in several others. Even better, he was almost sure that she couldn't have beaten him in the O.W.L.s, and to her even a tie was worse than coming in behind him.

"I got Outstandings in everything," he told Pansy loudly enough to be overheard, "Well, except for Divination, but only idiots care about that class." Sure enough, Hermione looked up the second that she heard his scores, and her eyes flashed in plain annoyance. Draco smirked at her. He was about to ask how she had done, but Pansy started talking before he got the chance.

"Ugh, you make me look stupid. I didn't get any Os, and I only passed four of them," she complained, and Draco shrugged. _It's odd, how she thinks that I could make her look more stupid than she already is. Just like it's odd that she thinks I even care. _

"Some people just don't do well on exams. It doesn't mean that you're stupid. Actually, you're probably the smartest girl in the school, but I bet that you just got nervous." She beamed at that, while Draco tried not to laugh. _She could be attending a school of hippogriffs and struggle for top marks, _he thought, flashing another smirk when he saw the look on the Mudblood's face. She was obviously trying not to be annoyed by his smooth talking. Weasley, on the other hand, seemed to be struggling not to burst into laughter.

"Did you just say that your stupid troll of a girlfriend was smarter than Hermione?" the Weasel King asked, smiling instead of glaring.

"He called me a troll," Pansy complained. _Does she ever just shut up? _

"He was talking about brains, not looks," Draco clarified for her, then looked back at Weasley when Pansy shut her mouth, appeased. "And if Granger's so smart, how many O.W.L.s did she get?"

"The same as you," Granger said, her voice sounding rather like she'd rather snog Neville Longbottom than admit that little fact. Actually, she looked rather like she was being tortured.

"Losing your touch?" he wondered, ready to rub his class marks in her face. Before he got the chance to, however, the Head Boy and Head Girl walked in, then proceeded to give them instructions before letting them all go back to their compartments. Immediately, Draco was out of the claustrophobic little room and insisted on the Slytherins taking the first patrols so he could walk through the open hallways before having to return to another cramped space.

Draco's patrol consisted of tearing open random doors to see what kind of reactions he could get out of people. Whenever he saw someone he didn't like, or a first year student that looked scared enough of him to have fun with, he'd make some kind of cruel remark to get a reaction out of them. That was the only excitement that came from his short patrol. Once he had finished, he returned to the compartment he'd spotted Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini in earlier.

Pansy was now there as well, probably skipping over most of the compartments. Draco laid down across two of the seats, resting his head on her lap. He didn't particularly like doing that, but he was tired, and he also knew that it made Zabini jealous. After that, he pretended to sleep and tried unsuccessfully to ignore their useless conversations. It actually wasn't that horrible.

That is, until the door was slid open. Draco opened his eyes to see Granger and Weasley looking in at them. He sat up nonchalantly.

"Aw, isn't that just cute," Weasley said, looking at Draco and Pansy. Both of the Slytherins gave the two other prefects friendly single fingered gestures that earned them icy glares.

"Jealous?" he asked Granger darkly.

"If you think I'd want any part of you in my lap, you must have lost your brain somewhere in that giant head of yours," she said, earning herself one of those special Malfoy glares. Her usual brave eyes showed just a little bit of fear, and she looked away.

"Keep talking to Malfoy like that, and you'll find yourself regretting it," Blaise spat.

"Oh, Zabini," the Mudblood said, more interested in the fact that he was there than his words. Her voice was almost excited.

"What?" Zabini hissed, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. She handed him a note.

"From a new professor," she said quickly, then the two Gryffindors hurriedly left the compartment. Blaise opened it and cursed.

"I have to go," he said, then darted off.

"Granger probably handed him a love note," Crabbe scoffed. Draco was amazed that he said something so amusing.

"He did ogle at her fourth year, do you remember that?" Pansy asked, her eyes widening as if she thought that his comment was actually serious. "At the ball."

_That's because she was hot, _Draco thought, not bothering to deny it. He knew that shit could be primped and painted to look pretty, as she'd been. He was also smart enough to realize that looks didn't change what was on the inside, however. Just because Viktor Krumm didn't seem to realize that didn't mean that Draco didn't.

"I don't know how he even saw her," said Draco, turning his head to look at Pansy. "I, for one, couldn't tear my eyes off of Parkinson here." He didn't remember what she'd worn, or what she looked like, despite still having a pretty clear picture of Granger in his head. He just knew that it was one of those things boyfriends said, and so he did.

"You're so sweet," she cooed.

"Did you just figure that out?"

"I've known it since first year," she said. Draco smirked at her, and she leaned down and pecked him on the lips. He hated all that sweet crap, but he knew that he needed a girl just because it'd look bad if he didn't. Pansy was hot, and she was a pureblood, so therefore there was nothing wrong with the whole thing, although she was horribly annoying.

Hours later, after he had fallen asleep with his head back on Pansy's lap, Zabini returned to the compartment, causing Draco to jolt awake. He looked up, saw who it was, then resumed his previous position. Blaise tried to shut the door, but something jammed it. That alone caught Draco's attention, and he trained his eyes on the door while Blaise continued to try to slam it. Finally, it flew shut, as if nothing had been blocking it in the first place.

The rest of the compartment was studying the door, but Draco carefully watched the inside of the compartment, not as ready to write it off as some freak occurrence as the rest of the Slytherins. His suspicions were confirmed when a flash of white caught his eye, for only a second. They weren't alone, and he only knew one idiot who was brave enough, and stupid enough, to try something like sneaking in a Slytherin compartment with no way out.

"Where have you been?" asked Draco when Zabini had returned to his seat.

"Professor Slughorn decided to get to know some well-connected people." _Then why wasn't I invited? _he thought in annoyance. He didn't want to be, but it was the principle of the thing. He was a Malfoy, and therefore he should get the chance to decline an invitation.

"And I wasn't invited, because?" Zabini had the guts to look amused by that question. That is, until he met Draco's dark gaze.

"He obviously doesn't know the definition of well-connected," he said quickly. "Longbottom was there, if that's any indication." That caused Draco's annoyance to evaporate. Apparently Slughorn was another Dumbledore lover. It would only have been a disgrace for Draco to have been dragged to a stupid meeting like that.

"That figures. He's just a washed up old has-been, I bet. I mean, I may not even be at Hogwarts next year, so what does it matter if he likes me?"

"Why aren't you going to be at Hogwarts?" Pansy asked worriedly.

"It's no longer necessary. Even coming this year is a waste. I doubt that, well, a certain person, would make me attend if I didn't have plans for some of the students here." As he continued speaking, his smirk found its way back onto his face. He knew that if it really was Potter listening, he had an opportunity to make him squirm.

"Plans?" Goyle inquired.

"Well, for one, I need to dethrone that stupid Scar-faced git," said Draco. Not even the invalids in his compartment had to ask who he was talking about. "Then that damn Mudblood he hangs around with also has to go, along with the Weasel King. Granger is going to be first, though, and I'm going to make it hurt."

That's when Draco heard just the lightest thumping noise from right above his head. He smiled to himself.

"Although perhaps I should go for the Weasley first. He's so dense that I could probably hand him a poisonous cupcake and he'd down it in one bite."

"Are you going to kill them?" Goyle asked unbelievingly.

"No, I'm going to feed them candy," he sneered. "And by the end of the year, maybe I'll even find the chance to give Dumbledore something sweet."

They all stared at him. Blaise did in surprise, actually smart enough to get his sarcasm. The other three looked at him in confusion. It almost made him sick, how thick some people could be.

"You aren't serious," Blaise said. "You don't have the guts."

"Like hell I don't," Draco argued. "And I'm dead serious. Those are my orders. Harry Potter's two closest friends, and hopefully some of the other blood traitors he surrounds himself with as well, will be gone by the end of the year if I have anything to do with it."

They looked excited. They looked slightly horrified. Draco looked smug. He wouldn't have, of course, if he'd been showing his actual feelings. No matter how horrible Potter and his pathetic friends were, he didn't want to kill them. As his mother had pointed out, he was no killer. The only reason he seemed so happy with the prospect was because he needed to for the act, so that whoever was hiding in the luggage rack- hopefully Potter- would buy into all of this and start becoming paranoid.

The Hogwarts Express reached the school not long afterwards, and Draco's cronies hustled to get out of the compartment, but Draco lagged behind.

"You can go," he said. "I need to check something." Pansy gave him a strange look, but led the others out. When he was alone, Draco lifted his wand and pointed it to where he thought he'd heard Potter before.

"Petrificus Totalus," he said. The spell worked like a charm. Potter came tumbling out of the luggage rack, his pale face looking up at Draco's in unmistakable hatred. Draco was sure that the same look was reflected in his eyes as well, probably with an added ferocity. He hated Potter with a passion. Everything about the Gryffindor drove him insane, but the worst part was the way that other people saw him.

Everyone thought Potter was a saint, that he was perfect, when in all reality, he was worse than any of the rest of them. If it wasn't for Harry Potter, Draco would still have a true family, he'd still have a life. Harry had even killed his own parents, in all reality. It was his fault that they'd died. And people worshipped him.

"Try anything like that again," he warned, holding his wand to Potter's scarred forehead, "and I will kill you." He could tell that Harry struggled to speak, struggled to scream, but he couldn't move. Draco gazed down at him, watching him squirm, letting his anger bubble over as he thought of everything that Harry had done to him. Finally, he stomped on the boy's face.

"I hate you, Potter," he clarified, before grabbing his invisibility cloak and walking away.

He threw the cloak in his bag, then hustled forward to the thestral-pulled carriages. He could see the winged horses now, after trailing Voldemort all summer, watching other Death Eaters do the Dark Lord's dirty work. Before, when he'd heard Harry mention them, he thought that he was crazy, which of course, he was anyway. Just not when it came to the thestrals.

The creatures intrigued Draco, although at first he was more than a little shocked. Once he got used to them, however, he couldn't take his eyes off of them. They were beautiful to him, for some reason he didn't quite understand. Most people were scared of their awkwardly bony bodies, leathery bats' wings, and creepy, reptilian faces, but Draco couldn't help but be impressed. Yes, maybe they were strange looking, but they were so gentle, and it almost felt to Draco as if they liked him. When he got into his carriage, one of the winged beasts even nuzzled his hand, looking at him with expressionless, pupilless white eyes.

"What are you looking at?" Pansy inquired curiously.

"Thestrals," said Draco softly, his voice much different than his usual angry drawl. Flying through the open air helped him relax, as did his very recent victory over Potter. Pansy sniffed.

"I can't see them," she whined. Draco felt his good mood start to fade surprisingly quickly. It seemed Pansy had a talent with things like that.

"They're ugly anyway," he assured her, hoping to get her to shut her mouth. Instead, she continued blabbering about useless crap that had the four boys in the carriage ready to drop dead by the time the thestrals touched down. As quickly as he could, he hurried out of the carriage and towards the Great Hall.

Draco was welcomed to the Slytherin table with mixed emotions. The students who'd been sorted into Slytherin despite having actual consciences were scared of him. They gathered in a somewhat small group at the foot of the table and whispered, giving him strange looks, like they thought he'd whip out his wand and start picking them off one by one. That's what every single other table looked at him like as well, and it made his skin crawl.

He hated them all, but he also didn't like being treated like he was the Dark Lord himself. Draco liked being feared, of course, but he also enjoyed being appreciated. The looks he was getting were definitely not of appreciation.

Then the rest of Slytherin table, the normal Slytherins, caught a glimpse of their wonderful prefect, and reacted with the proper expressions of awe and respect. That made Draco feel slightly better, although a part of him knew that more than anything, they acted like that because even they were afraid too. If he drew his wand, they'd cower in fear just like the rest of them. It wasn't even founded on anything real.

They didn't know what he'd become. It was simply because of who he was, coupled with the fact that his father's face had decorated the covers of the Daily Prophet for weeks as it proclaimed his trial, and then imprisonment in Azkaban. The only difference between those Slytherins and the rest of the school was that they more or less supported the same cause as Draco did. He tried to assure himself that it was all the acceptance he needed from the stupid hogs that made up the student population.

"They're scared of you," Pansy told her boyfriend, huffing from the exertion of catching him with him. She looked over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table, and he looked in the same direction. Everyone who'd been watching him suddenly looked away, although he didn't know if it was in fear or not. Those stupid Gryffindors were all so bloody brave and righteous that it was impossible to tell if they were scared of just didn't want to get caught at something as impolite as staring.

"Stupid gits," Draco muttered, glancing back at them one more time. Hermione Granger managed to catch his stare, but all she did was give him a somewhat sad look before shaking her head and looking away. _What the hell was that supposed to be? _Draco wondered.

"God, I think that filthy Mudblood was checking me out," Draco said, shivering just slightly. It was pretty obvious that she hadn't been, but he wanted to make sure that anyone who'd been watching him would write his obvious discomfort off as that, instead of the fact that the stupid girl had simply confused him.

"She's just jealous of your blood," Pansy assured him. "I can't imagine that some insufferable waste of human flesh like her would actually even consider pining after you. No, I'm certain that she's just impressed that she's in the same room with a wizard who has blood as untainted as your own." _Wow, she's actually using big words. I wonder if her parents bought her a somewhat functioning brain for her birthday present. _

"Of course," Draco snorted. "That only makes sense." Well, to anyone who didn't know Granger, anyway. Draco was well aware that the only reason that Granger would be happy to be in a room with him was that she could punch his guts. Even though he would admit it to no one, that's what he thought about every time he saw the stupid Muggle-born witch. She'd punched him before, and it had hurt. Although at the moment she appeared calm and composed, who knew when she'd snap again? Sure, she wasn't the strongest, but when a girl was that barmy, bad things could happen.

Actually, if she managed to hear any of what Pansy had just said, bad things would happen. Draco glanced at her one more time, just to be absolutely sure that she hadn't managed to catch a piece of Pansy's rant (with some kind of super-hearing, of course). To his intense relief, she was just messing around with Weasley, laughing at something he'd said to her.

Draco looked away in an effort to ease his disgust at them, but it didn't work. It made him sick that people could be laughing and happy at times like these, when Draco had never gotten a chance to feel like that, ever. Not once in his entire life.

"They are so pathetic," he muttered, then started watching the sorting and trying his hardest to block out the smiling faces that surrounded him. He couldn't, however, no matter how much he tried. It seemed that laughter was constantly ringing in his ears, and he was getting that sick feeling he did when he was around too many people. His unnatural paranoia made it even worse. He had his robes on, and he constantly worried that his loose sleeve would slip down and reveal his secret. He could still feel the mark, the way that it was so much colder than the rest of his skin, like it was packed with ice. He actually kept looking at his arm to see if his robes hadn't started freezing over.

"You okay?" Pansy wondered.

"Yes, I'm fine," Draco told her while he shot a glare at a little first year who'd been selected as a Slytherin. The kid scurried to the other end of the table quickly.

"He's just got the Death Eater thing down a little too well," Blaise joked, causing everyone around him to break into hot, loud laughter. That's when Draco had to get up and stalk out of the room. He didn't care that prefects were supposed to lead the first years to the dorms, or that the feast hadn't started yet. He felt like he was going to be sick, and there was no way he was going to stay in that room any longer.

And to add insult to injury, not a single person came after him.

Not quite sure where to go, he went to the Slytherin Dungeons, but the cold, dark atmosphere made him uneasy for the first time since he started attending the school. He left almost immediately and started roaming around the hallways instead. They were relaxing, so big and open, and the empty darkness calmed him. It reminded him of Malfoy Manor, with its endless corridors and dark passages. Memories of his beautiful home brought a smile to his face, and he actually felt somewhat relaxed and happy. That is, until he heard footsteps echoing from behind him.

He whipped around instantly, and a growl actually escaped his lips when he was met with the sight of Harry Potter's filthy Mudblood girlfriend.

"What are you doing?" she asked him. He gave her a look that would have had his father looking away. The effect it had on Granger was immediate. She actually stumbled backwards, promptly landing on her bottom.

"Having tea with You-Know-Who," Draco snapped sarcastically. She glared at him as she lifted herself off the ground with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Like he'd want to talk to pathetic scum like you anyway." She stuck her little chin defiantly in the air when she said it, and her bright eyes dared him to tell her differently. _God, she's worse than Zabini. Does everyone in this school think that I'm a whiny little girl? Is the prospect of me being a Death Eater really that big of a joke? _

"Of course, everyone seems to think that," he spat, taking a step closer to her. "I cannot wait to prove this entire school wrong."

"You got spit on me," she notified him, wiping off her face in obvious distaste.

"Your welcome," said Draco, really wanting to get away from her. He couldn't stand the way that she looked at him as though he were dirt. Sure, he did the same to her, but that was justified. She was dirt. "If I were you, I'd consider it an honor to come into contact with the spit of a pureblood."

"You know, that's very considerate, but I'm afraid your enormous ego has gotten in the way of rational thought. Only someone as stupid as yourself would assume that anyone with half a brain would be anything by disgusted by your filthy saliva," Granger retorted.

"I guess all that mud flowing through your head has messed with your judgment if you're calling me stupid. You're the moron who's messing with a Malfoy," he said back. She laughed, and the sound almost hurt his ears. It wasn't mocking, nothing like that. He'd never heard Granger be truly cruel, and he couldn't imagine her giving a mocking laugh. Really, it almost sounded as though she thought Draco was truly funny.

"Your family isn't as scary as you think you are," she told him, a small smile on her face. The second that he heard that, his wand was out of his pocket and pressed against Granger's neck. No one, absolutely no one, could talk about his family that way.

"Are you scared now?" he breathed. She stood her ground, not fidgeting a bit. A smile even played on the corners of her lips.

"If you're pathetic enough to curse me now, when I don't even have a wand to defend myself, then there's no reason to fear you." That response was so different than what he'd been expecting that he stood there for a minute, simply staring at her as her dark eyes dared him to hex her, to see what would happen if he did. By the time that he realized he _should_ hex her, voices were ringing through the corridors to signal the end of the feast. He hastily shoved his wand back in his robes.

"You got lucky," he said. She seemed to stand up straighter.

"Of course I did," said Granger sarcastically. Then the students came filing in, and Draco, who was already at the head of his group, started performing his Prefect duties, snapping at the first years to follow him. He had the same effect on them that Snape would have, immediately silencing any talking students, even the fifth and sixth years, who feared Draco as much as the rest of them. Crabbe and Goyle wandered through the crowd of robes, pushing and bullying, while Pansy made her way to the head of the group with Draco and shrugged his arm over her shoulders.

"Where'd you go?" she inquired worriedly.

"Business for you-know who," he answered immediately, thinking up a quick lie. How pathetic did it sound that he wandered the corridors before losing an argument with a filthy Mudblood? Pansy seemed to like his answer better anyway, although she didn't get it at first.

"What kind of-" He jerked his head at his arm, and her eyes widened dramatically. "Oh," she said. "_That _kind of business."

"Yes, _that _kind of business," said Draco in a tone that made it pretty clear that he thought she was dumber than a Gryffindor. For once, she finally read between the lines and seemed to understand what he'd implied, which ended any conversation they would have had. In fact, that was the last word Draco spoke that entire night.

He retreated to his room as soon as they reached the Dungeons. He was tired, and it didn't take him long to fall asleep, but as was becoming tradition, his night was plagued by nightmares. This time, Granger and him were facing off in a duel, and she kept pelting him with spell after spell, but he could do nothing but stare. She started laughing, but within seconds that laughter turned to that of the Dark Lord, whose snake-like eyes watched with amusement as he failed to conquer the Mudblood.

* * *

**I updated early because of how introduction-like that first chapter was. Hopefully this was somewhat more exciting, although it is somewhat long. I tried to cram quite a bit into it so that the more exciting things could start right away. Please review, and thank you if you reviewed the first chapter or favorited the story. I really appreciate it. **


	3. Chapter 3

When he jolted awake at the end of his dream, it was only six o'clock, and even the earliest risers never got to breakfast until seven thirty. He sat in bed and listened to Crabbe and Zabini compete for the title of loudest snorer. The stupid noises worked their way into Draco's head and seemed to echo along the sides of his skull until he finally snatched up his school robes and hurried to the Prefect's bathroom.

He filled up the enormous bath and sunk into the warm, bubbly water, managing a half hour of wonderful peace and quiet before another prefect started banging on the door and he was forced to leave. That improved his mood vastly, and he approached his first day of school with, if not an improved attitude, at least not a terrible one.

There was no need for it to be terrible either, because the day went somewhat well. Draco, still not sure how he was going to break up the trio, decided to do a little bit of reconnaissance work. He watched them during all of their classes together in an attempt to figure out just what their weaknesses were. In no more than two class periods with them, it became almost apparent, and blueprints started writing themselves out in his head.

It appeared that Granger and the Weasel King had a thing for each other. He could see it in the way that her cheeks tinted pink whenever he brushed her arm, or how he couldn't help from looking at her out of the corner of his eye when he didn't think anyone noticed. There were a dozen little things like that that colored their reactions to each other.

"How cute," he muttered under his breath when she fumbled with lacewing flies in potions after Ron had reached for them at the same time. Draco knew how things like that could ruin friendships, and he was sure that meddling in their business could definitely create favorable results.

He looked back down at the Draught of Living Death he was brewing for a contest in which the winner would get a lucky potion. He'd done the potion with his aunt this summer, so he knew how to do it, which was good because of how little of his focus that it took. So far it looked exactly how it was supposed to, so he kept looking at the trio and trying to decide just how he was going to take advantage of the two little lovebirds. Completely ignoring the directions in the book, he cut open his sopophorous bean with a dagger and squeezed the juices into his cauldron as Bellatrix had taught him, turning his potion a perfect lilac color. He barely even noticed.

_I wonder if Zabini would go out with her? _he wondered as he started stirring his potion, counterclockwise seven times, then clockwise. He knew that Zabini had a weakness for girls, even Mudbloods and blood traitors. Draco had even heard him talking about how pretty the Weasley girl was. And if Zabini could get his hands on Granger, then that'd be a pretty crushing blow. Weasley would be furious.

But what if they got in some heated argument and he ended up telling her his true feelings? Even if he found Ron a girlfriend as well, it wouldn't work out if they got in a fight. He knew both of them had big mouths, and didn't doubt that they'd just break out into some sickeningly romantic 'I love you' speech, that would ruin everything.

Maybe he could just get them to realize their feelings for each other, and then they'd be all lovesick and forget about Pothead, and then he'd feel like a third wheel and just ditch them. That seemed unlikely, but it could happen…. Then he thought of something even better, something perfect.

If he could get Granger and Weasley together, and quickly, then he'd make sure they were attached at the hip. If he had to, he'd sneak them chocolates that were supposed to be from each other. Anything. He'd make them fall hopelessly in love with each other. And then, he'd destroy it. Make Ron a love potion or something, so he'd go chasing other girls. Of course, Granger wasn't stupid. The first time, she'd believe him. But the second, and the third?

Draco wanted to pat himself on the back. That would destroy Granger, tear her to pieces, and Potter wouldn't be happy with Weasley either. Then Weasley, who'd be pissed that no one believed him, would make other friends to prove a point. That'd leave Potter and a highly unstable Granger… and then he'd get Zabini to go out with her, with love potions if he had to. There's no doubt that she'd be eager to piss Weasley off, and then Potter would get mad at her for it, too. Their friendship would already be weak, but that would definitely shatter it.

He relaxed some, finally having a complete plan that involved getting those two out of the way without having to kill or torture anyone.

"Time's up," Slughorn bellowed. He was their new potions teacher, having to take the spot after Snape moved to DADA. Draco hadn't learned that little fact until he'd walked into the room that morning because he'd missed the announcement during the meal. He wasn't too disappointed, however. Snape had been one of the many Death Eaters that he'd spent time around that summer, and the liking he'd taken to the teacher had quickly evaporated. He figured that it was better to have him teach DADA, something at which Draco excelled, then have him pouring over his potions every other second.

Draco looked down at his potion, which was perfect. Smirking, he gathered up his ingredients and put them away as Slughorn took a tour of the tables. At Harry's (Draco had been mildly annoyed when he'd come into class, but hadn't expected him not to be found), he stopped, and a ridiculously huge smile broke out across his face.

"Excellent, excellent, the clear winner if I've ever saw one. You must have inherited your mother's talent, yes, I've never seen anyone else with talent like that. Wonderful." Draco cleared his throat loudly, giving the Professor the Malfoy glare. He was mad. His potion was perfect, perfect, and Slughorn hadn't bothered to look at it.

"Are you going to finish looking at the other potions?" Draco asked him shortly. Being treated equally with the rest of the scum in the school was mortifying, but being treated below them, discriminated against, that was Draco's equivalent of burning in hell. He hadn't worked as hard as he had to be passed over.

"Oh, of course," the professor said, obviously more to be fair than anything. He didn't expect to find anything, and Draco could see it on his face when he saw his potion.

"Can you tell me, professor," Draco wonder, "if there's a single thing I could have improved in this potion?" Slughorn cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.

"Well, it is certainly no worse than Mr. Potter's," he said. "It is, I supposed, a tie." Draco slammed his fist on his desk, causing some of his draught to leap out of his cauldron before falling safely back in.

"No worse? Potter didn't even get an 'O' in potions last year? How could he have brewed it as well as I did?"

"Pure talent," Slughorn said dismissively, then he looked from Draco to Harry, and back to Draco. The young Slytherin amusedly watched as he saw his teacher start a little at the expression of pure revulsion on his face.

"It is a tie," the professor decided. "As you can see, I have a decent sized batch of the potion brewed, and I shall simply hand one out to each of you." Then he handed an unhappy Draco the bottle he already had, and went to grab Potter another.

"A tie," muttered Draco , glaring at Potter, who was doing the same to him. He had to have cheated to get it like that, there was no other way he could get such a perfect potion from the book's instructions. No way.

Draco couldn't believe it, and he was going to let Potter know it. He hurried to catch up to him as the students trailed out of the potions room. Potter, seeing who it was, turned on his heel, ready for a confrontation.

"Cheater!" they both accused at once. Draco sneered.

"You couldn't even manage an 'O' in potions, there's no way you would've known how to brew that." Harry glared at him, his eyes shining dangerously behind his glasses.

"I just read what was in my book," Harry snapped. Draco rolled his eyes.

"That wouldn't have worked. The book is wrong. If you analyze everything it tells you to do, you would realize that."

"Give it a rest," Granger interrupted. "You both won, and not by following the directions, so what does it matter?" Draco shot her a nasty glare.

"No one asked you, Mudblood." Then, thinking quickly, he ran into her as walked away, pushing her right into Weasley's. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw them blushing and trying to untangle themselves. His job was going to be easier than he thought.

The rest of Draco's classes weren't nearly as eventful. In all honesty, he slept through charms, and doodled pictures in his notebook while a dangerous looking black snake slithered over his arms in transfiguration. He'd been able to conjure animals since his second year, and snakes had always been a specialty of his. Sure, McGonagall had requested birds, but Draco figured that she wouldn't complain if he managed an even bigger creature. She'd glared at him when he popped one out of thin air in the middle of her instructions, but had said nothing, so he assumed that he was let off the hook.

He shoved the snake in his pocket after class, becoming rather fond of the creature, then headed down to the DADA classroom, where Snape waited for him. Draco shot him an icy look while he took his usual seat towards the back of the room, just because he didn't like him.

When the rest of the students were seated, Snape started his lecture on the Dark Arts. Draco tried not to look too disturbed as his greasy haired professor described them as if he were in love, his words gentle and caressing, and his face placid as if he were in a dream.

"I bet you already know this, don't you?" Pansy asked Draco in a low whisper. Snape jerked his head up when he heard the voices, but seeing as it was his prized student, he continued speaking as if he hadn't heard anything.

"Obviously," Draco told her, not bragging so much as getting her off his back.

It became obvious how much he did know once they started. With very little instruction, Snape paired them off and told them to start casting nonverbal jinxes as each other, while also protecting themselves themselves nonverbally.

Draco was mercilessly put with Hermione Granger, as Snape seemed more intent on torturing her than thinking about how Draco felt about the whole situation. Even worse was that when they were thrown together, Snape stated that the pairings would last the entire year.

Although he wasn't happy with his partner, he realized that it could be beneficial. Draco studied Granger, trying to decide if there was a way he could use the pairing to help get her together with Weasley. That was before realizing that she'd turned around and saw him staring at her. Not glaring, but looking her over, like he was checking her out.

"Shit," he muttered, quickly changing his look to a glare before looking away.

"Now get with your partners and begin," Snape instructed. Draco grabbed his wand and started to head over to Granger, but she was already by his table. He fixed her with an ugly scowl.

"Do you know what you're doing, or were you too busy staring?" she asked him, an annoying smile on her face.

"Don't flatter yourself. I was just trying to figure out if that was your real hair or if you'd stolen it from an inferius."

"Oh, ha ha," she pretended to laugh. Then she took a step away from him as Snape started approaching them. "You can go first," she said, taking a few steps back.

"I'd be ready if I were you," he warned her. "I'll get it on the first try." He didn't say it to brag, either. He said it because he didn't want to send her across the room and crack her skull open. Since worrying that he'd be forced to kill her and Weasley, his desire to physically hurt them had lessened somewhat. Of course, making her cry definitely wasn't out of the question.

"I don't need the warning," she said. He shrugged. If she wasn't going to be careful, that was her fault. He couldn't say he didn't warn her.

He cast a perfect stinging hex without uttering so much as a syllable, and Hermione barely had time to cast a hasty protego, and in her hurry she hadn't even bothered to go with the nonverbal thing because he'd surprised her so much.

"I told you so," he said when she glared at him, as if he hadn't warned her.

"I'm just not used to you telling the truth," she muttered. Draco snorted.

"Of course that's why you didn't listen to me. It had nothing to do with your thick skull." She glared, and without a warning, sent a rather weak spell in his direction. He deflected it easily, but he couldn't helped but be mildly impressed. That had to have been her first time doing it, and although her anger might have helped some, it was still rare to be able to cast a nonverbal like that right away.

"I'm scared to know how you already know this," Granger said, her lip jutting out slightly when she saw that her little spell hadn't even touched him.

"I, Granger, learned from my family. You, on the other hand, would not have that opportunity. I'm sure that you learn many other useful things from your parents, though. How to clean teeth, perhaps?" Hermione sent another, slightly stronger, jinx his way. Again, it glanced off Draco easily.

"That was out of turn," he pointed out to her. "I can go twice in a row now. Are you ready this time?"

"Do your worst." He shrugged, then decided to listen to her advice. First, he raised his wand and hit her with a fierce knock back jinx, which she couldn't manage to shield herself from. Then, when she was on the ground, he sent a jelly-legs jinx her way. It got her square in the chest, and she started struggling to get up, frustration crossing her features when her legs kept collapsing under her weight.

Snape walked over to the pair, clapping loudly.

"Good, Draco, very good."

"Don't call me Draco," he snapped. He allowed no one to call him by his first name other than his mother. Especially not him. Snape simply walked away, still smiling at his young counterpart's extraordinary talent.

"What're you looking at me like that for?" Draco snapped at Granger when he saw her glare. "You're the one who told me to hit you." Harry and Ron, who had somehow gotten to be each others partners, were giving him the death stare as well, for no reason at all. Draco threw his hands up in the air and walked over to the Mudblood, who was still struggling to get up.

"All of you are so hypocritical," he told her. He only decided to speak with her because he, at that moment, was towering over her, which made sure that she knew who was the superior one in the conversation. Or maybe not. Draco tried not to squirm when he saw that she didn't seem dejected or embarrassed, but instead just as annoyingly confident as she always seemed to be.

"Why would you say that?" she wondered in a voice that was extremely different from the quiet, friendly one she used with everyone else. At that moment, it sounded a lot like she was trying not to start cussing him out.

"Because," he said, "you're prejudiced. I warned you to be ready, and you ignored me, because you figured that all Slytherins are liars." They were, and he was the worst of them, but it was still prejudiced. A well founded one maybe, but that wasn't the point.

"That's because it's true," she argued.

"Apparently not. And then, after I warned you and you ignored it, you blame me anyway, for apparently not warning you in the right way."

"You could have stressed it more-"

"And then," he said, ignoring her, "you try to jinx me twice without warning. After that, I politely gave you notice that I would be performing two jinxes in a row, and you told me to give you my best shot, which I didn't do, by the way."

"What are you saying?"

"That you and your boyfriends may think that you're righteous, but at the moment, all three of you are looking at me like I'm the spawn of Satan after doing nothing wrong."

"But, you, you-"

"I what?"

"You made fun of my parentage," she said weakly. Draco took a step back. The class was over, and students were starting to file out.

"I would've thought you were used to that by now," he said. "And Granger? Next time you're about to call me an insufferable git, look in the mirror and ask yourself what I've done that you, or at least your two little boyfriends, haven't."

Then he walked off, leaving her on the floor, just staring after him. He felt good about his little tirade. It wasn't like he was some Slytherin rights activist or anything, but as he continued back towards his common room, he realized that what he'd been getting at was completely true. Sure, his entire house was a bunch of stupid scum who ceaselessly bullied the rest of the school, but didn't the other houses do that to them? And when it came down to that, it was three on one, which was actually really dirty.

_Although I doubt any other houses have a Death Eater on a mission in them. _

He shook the thought away. There was no reason that should mean anything. If he managed to kill Dumbledore, three lives would be saved, and he was sure that even the old man couldn't argue with that. And as for separating Pothead from his friends, well, it's not like Potter is going to live much longer anyway. He's just making it easier for them in the long run, by making the separation more gradual. So his being a Death Eater shouldn't make a difference in the way that people treated him and the other Slytherins. If anything, if people found out, they should pity him for everything he was going through.

_Yeah, pity. That's what I deserve, _he thought sarcastically. He knew that of all things, he didn't deserve, or want anyone's pity. He was a Death Eater. He'd stolen, and kidnapped, and several times, he'd even tagged along during killings. He'd been there when Marcus Belby's parents had been found and killed. He'd watched Fenrir Greyback tear them apart, and he hadn't even allowed himself to care. He remembered seeing Belby during his patrols on the train. The boy looked terrible. Even just thinking about it made Draco hate himself more. He'd done that, and he even considered deserving pity? He deserved nothing, and that was good, because he wanted nothing as well.

"Black mamba," Draco muttered to the wall that hid Slytherin's dungeons. It slid open and Draco walked into the common room. Actually, the password had reminded him of the snake he'd hidden in his pocket. Sure enough, when he looked, it was still there. It was a rare kind of adder that was dangerously poisonous, but he'd made sure to tie its mouth shut after he summoned it. He was still cautious, however, dumping it out of the pocket instead of grabbing it. The angry snake landed on a dark green leather couch, and immediately slithered to the floor and started exploring the room. After a second glance, he realized that whatever was on its mouth had fallen off, and knew he'd need to catch it immediately.

Draco cussed again, then pulled out his wand to summon it, but Pansy came out of the girl's dormitories at that moment.

"Malfoy," she said in a pleading tone. "I need help with my charms essay." He sighed.

"I have homework, too." He didn't, actually. In nearly all of his classes he'd done hands on work, and he'd finished the homework he did have in his free period after lunch. Pansy didn't know that, however. In all reality, Draco needed to go and trail Granger and Weasley to get a head start on his little project. They needed to get together soon if he was going to have time to make them fall in love with each other, and then tear them apart.

"Then why aren't you doing it?"

"I need some library books," he said. He was sure that he'd find Granger there.

"I'll come with," she offered. At that moment, Draco's little snake resurfaced from underneath a couch across from them, and started heading straight at Pansy.

"There's a snake behind you," he notified her lazily as he stuffed Potter's invisibility cloak in his bag, just incase he needed it. He wasn't worried about the snake at all, and you could hear it in his voice. Sure, enough of the poison could cause brain damage, maybe loss of limbs, but he didn't think the snake would actually bite her.

"Are you making excuses?" she accused. "Because that's just pathetic." It was an inch away from her shoes now.

"Um, Pa-" The snake started to slither up her leg, and Pansy, genius that she was, started screaming and jumping up and down.

"Get it off, get if off!" she squealed. Then, her cries became hysterical, and she started jumping even worse. "It bit me. God, it bit me. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die!" Suddenly Draco regretted letting it out.

"Avada Kedavra," he whispered, so that she wouldn't hear what curse he'd used. Immediately, the snake fell to the ground. Pansy didn't seem to notice.

"Draco, I'm going to die!" she screamed as if he hadn't heard her the last two times. Her skin was already getting red and feverish, and she really didn't look good. A lot of venom had probably gotten into her system from the way she kept shaking the stupid thing up and down after it'd clamped its teeth in.

"Immobulus," Draco said, freezing Pansy in place to get her to stop moving. Her eyes looked at him in sheer anger, but he ignored her. First checking to make sure that neither of the fangs had broken off (they hadn't, but there was a nasty wound where she'd been bitten), he threw her over his shoulder and hurried to the hospital wing.

About halfway there, he had to stop for a break, and Weasley happened to walk past him, standing beside Pansy's immobile body.

"Did you have to freeze her to get her to snog you?" he asked at first. Then he really saw Pansy, and the way her entire calf was starting to turn a disgusting purple color.

"She was bit by an adder. It isn't deadly, but she needs to get to the hospital wing." He said it in a tone that made it clear he needed help getting her there. Weasley had no problem interpreting what he wanted.

"This is the only time I'm going to help you. Ever," he said, then took Pansy's head and Draco took her legs. Neither of them spoke until the arrived outside Madam Pomfrey's door.

"I- thank you," Draco told Weasley, looking straight at him. Ron nodded at the floor, then walked away. Giving Pansy one more quick look, Draco knocked on the door to the hospital, kissed the girl's forehead, and ran away to chase after Weasley. She'd be fine, but he wouldn't be if he couldn't get Weasley and Granger together and apart before his deadline.

As he ran after Ron, Draco got Potter's cloak out from the bag, then chased after him once he was sure he couldn't be seen.

The redhead almost immediately headed to the Gryffindor common room, and Draco jumped into the portrait silently after him. Ron then headed over to where Potter and Granger were sitting by the fire. Granger, unsurprisingly, was working on homework that wasn't due for another two weeks. Potter, from what Draco could tell from his red face and Granger's annoyed expression, was fuming to her about something. He wondered if it was him. Knowing that Potter wasn't happy about losing his cloak, he didn't doubt it.

"You'll never believe what I just did!" Weasley exclaimed, his freckled face lighting up with what could only be described as sheer delight.

"Had your first kiss?" Granger wondered darkly. Draco smiled at the opportunity.

"I'm saving that for you," the Slytherin said, trying to make his voice sound as much like the Weasel's as he could. Both Granger and Potter looked at Ron, totally shocked, while Ron looked around in search of whoever said that, his face turning as red as his hair.

"I did not say that," he insisted.

"Then who did?" asked Harry. Granger said nothing, but she was looking at Weasley with hopeful brown eyes.

"I- I," Ron stuttered, scratching his head. Then, looking thoroughly confused, he finally sighed. "Must've been that butterbeer I had earlier," he muttered weakly. Harry looked at him strangely, but it was evident that Hermione was struggling not to break into a crazy grin.

"Well, what were you going to tell us before your five second spell of drunkenness?" Harry wondered. Ron wasn't paying attention. From what Draco could see, he was too busy watching Hermione.

"Ron," Potter snapped. His friend jumped a hundred feet in the air.

"W-what?" he asked, shocked. Draco had to resist the urge to pat himself on the back. He already had them staring blissfully into each others eyes with one carefully placed sentence.

"What were you going to tell us?"

"Huh?" he wondered, then his eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, yeah. I just helped Malfoy tow Parkinson's frozen body up to the hospital wing." Draco had started to leave, realizing that he'd done enough for the one night, but he stopped when he heard the Weasel start to talk about him. _This could be interesting, _he thought, settling down into a comfy red armchair.

"Do you think he tried to kill her?" Harry wondered. "You know, I wouldn't blame him if he did." Draco, despite despising the scar-faced freak, had to stifle a laugh. It seemed as though Potter agreed with him, on one thing at least.

"I don't know. It looked like a snake bite, and you remember that thing he conjured up in transfiguration?" Ron grinned as the other two contemplated his theory. Or, Harry did at least. Hermione was busy going over a History of Magic paper, and Draco found himself getting annoyed. He wanted to hear the Mudblood's take on everything.

"What are you saying?" Harry wondered. "That he hid it in her socks or something?"

"Well, you never know. If he really is a Death Eater like you think, then maybe he would kill her. I mean, it wouldn't be beneath him," Ron commented. When he heard the words, Draco found himself tense up, then he remembered when he'd played Harry back in the compartment. He was just guessing from that, he didn't actually know anything that'd truly get Draco in trouble. He had no proof at all.

"I guess," Harry said.

"Why would a Death Eater want to kill Parkinson, though? Isn't she destined to become one of them, too," Ron added, starting to lose faith in himself.

"I could think of a few reasons why I'd kill her," Harry said. "But other than that, what if Voldemort's mad at her for being so stupid. Maybe he sent his Death Eater, Malfoy, to poison her." At that, Hermione slammed her book down on the table.

"Grow up you two," she ordered. "If Malfoy wanted to poison her, why would he have taken her to the hospital wing? And for the fiftieth time, don't just go around calling random people Death Eaters."

"But he's Malfoy," Ron argued. "That isn't a random person. And maybe he wasn't taking her to the hospital wing, but when I caught him, he decided he'd better so he didn't get caught."

"Don't you think you should try to see the good in people?" Granger wondered. "Right now you're trying awfully hard to turn Malfoy into some kind of criminal." Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. Granger, sticking up for him? He wouldn't have believed it, not if Harry hadn't spoken next.

"Hermione, just because you can manage to make everyone out as good, doesn't mean that I'm so eager to." _Oh, _Draco realized, _I guess that's a habit of hers. _

"I think you're forcing yourself to be righteous, anyway," Ron added. "Look how you treat Malfoy to his face. You fight with him worse than we do, then as soon as his annoying little ferret face is out of the picture, you're all 'he's not so bad' to us. It's hypocritical if you ask me."

"I am not a hypocrite," Hermione argued. "Besides, you don't even know what that means."

"I do too, it means-"

"Would you guys just give it a rest?" Harry shouted. Draco was impressed. He'd never heard Pothead talk that loudly before, not to his friends at least. "Ron, you know what Malfoy does to people. Don't call Hermione a hypocrite just because she's human. Everyone reacts to him. And Hermione, I have to say that despite all your talk about everyone having good in them, I'm afraid that Malfoy may not have gotten the memo."

_Aw, isn't that cute? The righteous little Gryffindors talking about me being evil behind my back. They're worse than us Slytherins. Well, except Granger. She's just… _

But Draco didn't know what Granger was. Annoying, yeah. People who are as full of crap as her are always annoying. She was stupid too, if she was sticking up for him on account of her friends being too hard on him. Really stupid, considering that the argument started on her saying that he wasn't a Death Eater. Other than that, though, Draco knew that Hermione was something else. No one other than his mother had said anything like that, anything about there being any good to see in Draco, and even though it was a stupid, filthy Mudblood that said it, he couldn't argue that it wasn't exactly a bad thing to hear.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Ron said, shrugging the lecture off. "Now who wants to play me in wizarding chess?" Harry and Hermione both groaned and started collecting their things.

"Maybe later," Harry said quickly. "I-I, oh, Ginny, didn't you say that you need help with your Potions?" The fire-haired girl who just walked in through the portrait stared at Harry with startled eyes before nervously shrugging her shoulders, as though she didn't want to sell out her friend. Potter jumped at the chance and rushed over to her.

"And I really, really need to finish this essay," Hermione said, already ducking out of the room.

With his mission then complete, Draco staked out by the portrait until someone else opened it, then slipped out and hurried back to the dungeons.


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the week passed in a very similar manner to that first day. Draco outperformed his classmates in every class, save for Potter in potions, and Granger in everything other than DADA. His lessons with his aunt had done wonders, and even the teachers were amazed with his improvement.

Even Draco, although bored out of his mind, wasn't complaining, especially not when he kept knocking the Mudblood down again and again in DADA. To her credit, she never did get in any big arguments with him again, most likely because she was trying to prove to Ron and Harry that she wasn't a hypocrite.

In his time after class, he trailed after Ron and Hermione, occasionally whispering phrases that Ron started claiming as his own. Once, he left a box of chocolate frogs in Ron's room and put a love poem on it, signing it with an 'H.G.', and even though Hermione blushed and stammered fierce denials, Ron smiled throughout the whole day, and eventually his Mudblood friend joined in.

Draco's progress was so good, that by the time he was heading back to the dungeons after his last class on Friday, his attitude wasn't horrible at all. Even Pansy, who'd been released from the hospital that Wednesday and had been attached to 'her savior's' arm ever since, wasn't bothering him like she usually did.

Actually, for once, it was his usually silent, obedient, cronies that were distracting him.

"Are we on the Quidditch team this year?" Goyle pestered him the second that Draco and Pansy walked into the room.

"You're too fat," Pansy said bitterly. "So no. He doesn't want you ruining his brooms."

"Malfoy?" Goyle asked, wanting his opinion. Even he knew that Pansy put a lot of words into Draco's mouth.

"I - do - not - know," the Quidditch captain said slowly, annunciating every syllable as though he were speaking to a five year old. He'd already told both Crabbe and Goyle that they'd have to try out about fifty times within the last week.

"Well, I better be," he said, then stomped away. Draco, in a rare joking moment, turned to Pansy with a cruel smirk on his face.

"I should keep both of those two lards off the team just for being so annoying." She giggled her annoying, nasally giggly, then put her hands on his chest.

"I think that you should pick Blaise," she said. "He's a better beater than either of them." As soon as she said that, Draco growled at her and took a step back, his good mood gone.

"Blaise?" he spat. "That stupid creep couldn't stay on a broomstick if it was as wide as his mother's arse."

"You don't know that," Pansy said in a voice a lot more defensive than usual. Draco, who was as good at reading emotions as he was at hiding them, stared at her for a minute, studying her face. Zabini had a thing for her a very long time, and she was extremely easy to sway. Not only that, but Zabini's father, as opposed to Draco's, who wasn't quite so powerful anymore, had a quite high position in the Ministry… and now Pansy was trying to use Draco to get Zabini a place on the Quidditch team.

He forced the girl to look into his eyes, and the fear that he saw there confirmed his suspicions.

"God, you're screwing him, aren't you?" Draco asked her in disgust. Her cheeks reddened, and she looked directly at the ground. Slytherins were usually good liars, but she'd been caught by surprise.

"Malfoy, I-" He shut her up by pushing her into a corner. A single second year was sitting on a couch in the common room, and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, trying to ignore the scene that was playing out before him.

"Save it. Parkinson, do you know who I am?"

"Um-"

"A Malfoy," he growled. His eyes were practically red with anger. "And no one, absolutely no one, takes advantage of a Malfoy." The flames in the torches that lined the room started to flare dangerously high.

"I-,I-" He pushed down his left sleeve, showing her his Dark Mark. She started turning green, her eyes widening in more fear than he'd ever seen before. She looked normal. She looked human. He didn't care.

"Is Blaise Zabini one of the Dark Lord's followers?" he snarled.

"N-n-no." Now she was crying. Sobbing, to be more accurate.

"Does he know how to kill a witch so painfully that she'll feel it even after she's buried in the ground?" The tears started falling so quickly that they looked like waterfalls, and her knees gave out, causing her to crumple into a heap over expensive robes and shining black hair.

"Please," she pleaded. "Don't kill me. I- I-, I'm sorry!"

Draco kicked her in disgust, but he couldn't look at her anymore because now she'd hurt him too. It wasn't because he'd cheated on him. He was just pissed off about that. He was hurt because she'd thought he'd actually kill her. Like he was just a heartless swine. No, even in his anger, he knew that he'd draw his limits somewhere. He raised his wand.

"Densaugeo," he hissed, his smirk growing cruel. Draco knew that the spell he'd cast would hit Pansy right where it hurt- her looks. It made her teeth grow disgustingly large, until they were even past her chin. Even just looking at her, crying and sobbing and wedged in that corner with her teeth sticking out like a mutated beaver, took away the sting of her betrayal.

He left when Pansy became completely hysterical. The little second year whimpered as Draco stalked by.

"Ten points for looking at me like that," Draco snapped at him. He knew that taking points from his own house would do him no good, but he was mad, and he wanted people to know it.

He tried to stay in the dungeons after that, but it felt like he was boxed in. Every dark stone wall, all of the heavy cabinets, and even the thick green tapestries closed in on him until he couldn't think, couldn't even breathe. He tore out of there as quickly as he could and hurried to the surface, making a beeline for the door and getting outside as quickly as possible.

The cool air helped him breathe more easily, and the pounding in his head eased up slightly. Draco's shoulders relaxed from their stiffened position, and his brain cleared of the blinding anger that he'd felt, becoming more and more calm as he trekked into the Forbidden Forest. As he disappeared into the trees, calming down with each step, his thoughts started sorting themselves out.

He hated Pansy, and the one good thing that came out of this was that now he didn't have to deal with her anymore. The only problem he had at all was that she'd taken advantage of him. She'd used him, and he felt like an idiot. Malfoys weren't taken advantage of, and they definitely weren't made idiots of, and that is why he'd been so hard on her.

He was a Death Eater, and if he let things like that slide, he wouldn't last long in the Dark Lord's inner circle. If being kicked out meant something as simple as being replaced, he'd be all for it. But losing his position was more than that. It was near instant death for both himself and his family, and he couldn't let that happen.

So cursing her was fine. Necessary. But the worst part was that he had done it thoughtlessly, without thinking of the consequences. He had lost his temper and didn't think straight, and that could not happen.

_It was fun, though, _a small voice in his head whispered. _You liked it. _

He ignored the creepy, somewhat concerning voice.

As Draco continued deeper into the forest, cursing Pansy and fearing himself, he started to feel more and more like he wasn't completely alone. Stopping for a moment, he listened carefully, expecting footsteps but hearing something else... a chewing noise, as if someone were eating something.

Very slowly, carefully, he continued forward until he stepped through a clearing and was met by over a dozen thestrals, most of which were eating fruits off the forest floor. The sight of the creatures took the scowl from his face. He lowered his wand, continuing forward until he were directly in front of one of the creatures that he considered so exotically beautiful.

It's long, reptilian nose nuzzled against Draco's hand, blank white eyes staring right at him. Very carefully, as he remember his incident with the hippogriff his third year and was still weary of magical creatures, he reached his other hand up and gently ran it along the top of the thestral's head.

It was so odd, in all reality, to see how gentle the fearsome animals really were. It also made Draco think more than he wanted to. They were so gentle and good-natured, although people saw them as monsters. Then there was Draco, who at first glance, looked like an angel of the boy, but was the type of person to curse a girl until she cried, and have fun while doing it.

Yet, almost all people considered the thestrals monsters, while many held Draco in the highest esteem.

That caused him to ask himself a question.

Which one was the real monster?

He felt the answer to that question as soon as it had popped into his head.

He was the one who enjoyed instilling fear in a girl he'd been more or less going out with the past two years.

He was the one who caused everyone he touched to suffer.

He was the one who would ruin friendships, who would kill.

And more than anything, he was the one who felt only hate and anger, who couldn't feel love or happiness, and who was confident he never would.

And more than glowing white eyes or leathery bats wings, isn't that what makes a true monster?

He shook the thought away and returned to the castle.

...

The day after he'd ended things with Pansy, he held Quidditch tryouts. Blaise had clearly been the best chaser, but he was left off the team. So were Crabbe and Goyle, simply because he was pissed at them for asking about their spots so much.

Actually, for the first time in years, Draco let girls on Slytherin's team. Daphne Greengrass and Hestia Carrow both made the team. Daphne, because Draco had asked her out after he'd returned to the dungeons the previous night, and he wanted to rub it in Parkinson's face, and Carrow because she actually took to beating Goyle over the head with a bat during the tryouts and it endeared her to him.

Other than those changes, the team remained the same as it had been, and Draco was happy with it, although he didn't care as much as he would have before.

...

That next Monday, Draco started regretting his decision to hex Pansy and cut Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle. Although he hated them, they were really all he had. Sure, there was Daphne, but she was the opposite of Pansy. She hung out with his other friends and gave him his space. Draco doubted anyone would know that they were going out if he didn't make it a point to snog her in front of as many different people as possible.

So she wasn't company, and everyone else in the school ran away if they caught a glimpse of his platinum blond hair, or hated him too keenly to even consider feeling sorry for him. Even in classes, he usually lodged himself into a seat in the back corner of the room and was always the last to get a partner unless he scared someone into it.

That is, until last hour anyway. In DADA, He, like always, was stuck with Granger. They were given the task to figure out how to get rid of dementors. Each group would think of three different answers, and the class would then discuss the best one after all discussions had been completed.

"A patronus," Hermione said as soon as he walked over there. Usually, Draco was annoyed as hell by her know-it-all voice, but he wasn't in a very good mood, and he didn't have the energy to get mad at her for it.

"Or you could let it kiss you and everything would just be easier," Draco muttered, and he could see Hermione stop writing.

"You aren't serious, are you?" she wondered, her voice sounding concerned. Draco looked up in confusion, and then started when he was met with worried brown eyes. He almost choked. What was she worried about?

"Why? Want to order party favors for the occasion?" he asked quickly, working to keep venom in his voice. Why did she have to be acting like a good person now? He knew how to deal with the bitchy Granger who snapped at him, but the prospect her worrying about him threw him off horribly. No one other than his mother, absolutely no one, worried about anything he was going through. Actually, if it was extremely painful, sometimes they even laughed.

"Of course not. It's just-, just-" she stammered, blushing furiously. "Well, with your father and all…" Draco looked at her cautiously, starting to get mad at the stupid Mudblood for acting like such a fool. "It just makes me nervous when you talk about killing yourself." When she said it, her big brown eyes looked up at him so sweetly that he almost felt sick. People didn't look at Malfoys like that. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with _him_?

If he'd been anyone but a Malfoy he would have betrayed his shock. He would have gaped, or stared, or maybe even cried because he was so touched that someone cared about him. But he was a Malfoy, and his heart was safeguarded against weaknesses like that, and even though Granger may have been able to touch it ever so slightly, any feelings that it gave him were immediately buried.

"I don't care if you live or die," Draco told Granger coldly, making sure that his eyes were loaded with as much hate as always, "so you shouldn't be worrying whether I do."

"No one should-" He slammed his hand down on the desk.

"Shut up. I'm not suicidal, I'm not lonely or crazy, and more than anything, I don't want a stupid Mudblood worrying about me. I don't need anyone's help, let alone yours."

"I'm just trying to be-"

"Don't say nice. I'm not that stupid. You hate me almost as badly as I loathe you, and there's no way that you're being nice. You're only pretending to care because you want something from me, just like everybody else." Because that was the only explanation for her attitude, he told himself. Just two days before, he'd accepted the fact that he was a monster. And people weren't nice to monsters. Not unless they wanted to get the best of them.

"Fine, if you're going to be a prat about it," she snapped. Then she looked away from him, but not before Draco saw her eyes, which looked like they belonged to a wounded deer.

"I hate you," he hissed at her when an unfamiliar feeling crept into his chest. He didn't know what it was, but it made him just slightly queasy. He made sure to extinguish it firmly and quickly, but he shouldn't have felt it in the first place. She had no right to do that to him. None at all.

"You hate way too much," Granger stated. _God, she sounds like my mother, _Draco thought. Only his mother wasn't a Mudblood who was going around trying to make depressed Slytherins want to get their souls sucked out.

"Focus," Snape bellowed at them from the other side of the room. Draco glared at the Mudblood sitting across from him. Hermione tried to glare back, but now that he'd seen just how sweet and innocent her eyes could get, the glare lost its power. He could see that the goodness never completely left them. But for Draco, that was worse than any glare. It scared him, actually, to think of Granger as not only a human being, but someone who had the capacity to do something other than hate him. It made her so much more dangerous to him.

"You're too good," he told her darkly. Then he turned back to his paper and furiously scribbled down two answers that he remembered his father teaching him, and then tacked Hermione's patronus idea on as the third. He showed her the paper, she nodded curtly, and neither of them talked for the rest of the hour.

...

The next two weeks piled up into a nearly indistinguishable mountain of hours and minutes and seconds. There were a few things that separated them from each other, but very little that specifically stood out. Draco continued his matchmaking work, just as he continued to ignore his task to kill Dumbledore.

By the end of that second week, he'd gotten Granger and Weasley to finally kiss (which nearly caused him to throw up), but he didn't feel as happy as he should have. No one knew about his accomplishment, and he had no one to brag to either (he'd dumped Daphne right after they started going out because he didn't feel like another fake relationship). It just happened, and then it was done. A small step in his overall plan, but in all reality, nothing.

The lack of any kind of friendship at all, even a single greeting in the hallways, wore on him quickly. It made him miserable and hollow, and it got to the point that he'd go out of his way to snap and yell at kids just so he had someone to talk to. If there weren't other students around, he'd wander the empty corridors, sometimes even venturing out to the forest where the thestrals were, and talk to them. If he didn't feel like finding them, he'd just walk around the grounds, making conversation with himself about everything from stupid traitorous friends to a couple mentally disabled Gryffindors who still got into constant arguments despite being a couple, which made Draco worry that they wouldn't fall in love in the first place.

So, with all that going on, it wasn't hard to picture what Draco's mood was like. In the understatement of the century, he wasn't very happy. Now just picture how much 'happier' he was when Avada plunked a letter from his mother down at the Slytherin table at breakfast on the third Saturday of the school year.

_Draco, _

_I have spoken to your father, and he sends you his best wishes, and apologizes profusely for having left you as he has. He wants you to know that he hopes you will forgive him for his mistake. He is praying for you, and stressed how important it is that you continue to focus on your duties, despite not having him around. I know that you're under a lot of pressure, but please make sure to remember that there's a lot more than our reputation at stake. _

_Sincerely, your loving mother. _

So that, of course, brought Dumbledore into his mind again, because obviously that's one of the duties they were talking about, and he had been ignoring him because he knew he couldn't kill him. Even the thought of it made him sick. The more he considered it, the more hopeless he became, until the worry continued to tear him apart throughout the entire day.

"I hate my life," Draco muttered to no one in particular that night, walking through an empty corridor on one of his prefect patrols. Pansy was supposed to be with him, but they'd made it a point to take differently routes. It was a good thing, too, because Draco had been on the brink of tears that entire day, and he could feel himself tearing apart at the seams.

"Why can't the damn Dark Lord make Snape do it?" he asked himself. "Dumbledore trusts Snape, that idiot trusts everybody. So why me? Why?" He knew the answer, though. It was because of his father. His stupid father, who'd failed so miserably, who never retrieved the prophecy, who'd gotten caught and shipped off to Azkaban. Draco hadn't done anything, but stupid Voldemort was punishing him for his father's stupidity, and his entire family was going to die for it.

When that ugly truth touched Draco's mind, the seams that were hanging on by a thread fell apart, and the tears that he'd been holding in the entire day, that he'd been holding in his entire life, threatened to spill over. He tried to continue walking, as though nothing were wrong, but soon he no longer had the will to. He ducked in the first open door he could find, knowing that he was far away from where any of the staff resided, and collapsed on the cold tile floor moments later, holding himself and trying to stop the tears.

He was going to die, it was imminent. Even worse, because of him, his family would die too. He thought of what everyone in the school would do when they heard of his death. Cheer, no doubt. They'd hang streamers, and everyone would be smiling and happy, even Snape, who'd probably be thrilled to have a stupid nuisance like Draco out of the way.

Maybe, just maybe, Dumbledore would be sorry. He wouldn't know that Draco had died for him. No, everyone would assume that he simply hadn't had the skills or talent to be a Death Eater. Well, except Hermione Granger. The stupid Mudblood would probably be walking around with her stupid muddy doe eyes, telling everyone that he'd had good in him, that he wasn't horrible and evil, but someone who was just twisted by dark forces. She wouldn't really care, no, he knew that from the icy silence he'd been getting from her during their DADA classes, but she'd still go around trying to act like she did just because she was too decent to participate in a death party.

Even just thinking about that made him cry harder, because it was just pathetic if Hermione Granger hated him. He really must be scum, he realized, for her to treat him like she does. Of course, he knew he was scum anyway. Lord Voldemort saw him as nothing but scum, the entire school saw him as nothing but scum, and even his father saw him as nothing but scum. He was cold and heatless and cruel and weak and everything that was horrible in a person, and at that moment, the full force of that realization slammed into his chest.

People thought that Draco was cocky. But in all reality, he was just a really good actor. He'd even had himself fooled, until that moment. But when everything fell apart, he hated himself and his family, and his self confidence was nonexistent.

"I hate my life," he repeated, this time, his voice was clogged with tears.

"What makes you say that?" someone asked. Malfoy jumped to his feet instantly, any sign of weakness automatically erased from his countenance completely. His insides were shredded and torn to bits, but he still had that Malfoy pride, and he didn't want anyone to see him broken. He had his wand up and ready, planning on modifying the memory of whatever person managed to sneak up on him.

"I'm not like _them, _I won't hurt you," the same voice said, getting closer to him as she continued to speak. Then, all of the sudden, Draco felt something freezing cold on his shoulder. He turned around in an instant and was met by the face of a ghost. Her cheeks were pudgy, and her bottom lip jutted out in what appeared to be a constant pout. The girl had dark hair that she'd pulled back into pigtails, and her pale eyes were covered by thick round glasses.

"_Who_ are you?" Draco asked in disgust. He didn't talk to ugly girls like that. He didn't care if they were dead or alive. She was below him.

"I'm Moaning Myrtle," she informed him, raising a hand and hovering it above his shoulder. He flinched away, and he swore that he saw something unnatural flash in her eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

"Well, Myrtle," he said, trying to sound tough despite knowing that she'd just seen him completely fall apart. "I want to be alone, so I'd appreciate it if you'd just get lost." Her trilling laughter bounced off the bathroom walls, and Draco winced.

"This is my bathroom," she said. "Don't I have the right to haunt the place I died?" Draco looked around hastily at her words, taking in everything for the first time, namely the serpents that seemed to crawl around the sinks. Suddenly, he felt himself soften, just slightly, but enough that when he spoke next, the edge had almost completely left his voice.

"You're the girl the basilisk killed," he whispered. That was the only way she would have died in this particular bathroom. He recalled that that particular girl was Muggle-born, but that thought didn't disgust him with the ghost as it did with those who were still alive. It was like she was born so long ago that her parentage didn't count to him anymore.

"That's what they tell me," she said, floating around Draco so that she was behind him. He turned around quickly.

"I-I'm sorry. I should leave, then," he said hastily, and started to get out.

"They all leave," she said sadly, soaring towards the ceiling. "No one wants to stay with poor, miserable, Moaning Myrtle." Draco stopped. He didn't know why he did. He just stopped. Then, like his body wasn't under his own control, he found himself turning around. She'd already started to return to her stall, but the ghost froze when she saw him staring.

"I know how you feel." The words slipped out of his mouth without his control, but once they were in the open, they didn't make everything feel horrible like he was worried they would. Instead, he almost felt better.

"W-what?" Myrtle asked. It was like she couldn't believe what she'd been told.

"My girlfriend cheated on me," he said just loudly enough so that she could hear. His voice was hard and emotionless, but the words still flowed out. "My father is in prison, and I hate everyone else." The poor, ugly ghost immediately flew to Draco's side.

"People are cruel," she said. "When I was alive, they'd laugh at 'stupid, fat Myrtle'." Draco knew that he was one of those people that would have made that girl's life miserable, but he ignored the queasy feeling he got in his chest, the same one he'd gotten when Granger had looked at him with her sad eyes in DADA. "They'd steal my things, and I never got most of them back."

"They're all stupid," Draco told her. "A bunch of useless jerks."

"They never think about what the other person is going through, why they act like they do," Myrtle added. "I was always oversensitive, or mentally unstable, but no one stopped to think that it was their fault. No one!" Just like no one thought about his father, about why he'd turned out like he was. Just like no one thought about the reasons he treated them like he did.

Draco put his hand where hers was, and even though it was cold and awkward, he felt like he had to make some kind of gesture. He wasn't fully aware of just why he was treating this ghost like a human being, but he felt like he just had to.

"I'm sorry," he choked. The words twisted and turned their way out, scraping his throat on the way up, but when they freed themselves, so that Myrtle could hear them, they dripped with sincerity.

And the ghost, so shocked by all of this, so unused to anyone saying anything like that to her, stared.

"You're sorry?" she asked as if the words belonged to a foreign language. Draco saw the cautious disbelief as though he'd given her some huge present, and it made him feel weak. It made him feel human. It made him feel… not good, but like he was more than a pile of hippogriff droppings.

"Yes, I am." When she continued to stare at him, he added, "I've seen death way too many times," as an explanation.

"When?"

"My father was a killer. He's murdered dozens of people, and I saw a couple of them. He followed the Dark Lord, the same person who released the basilisk on you." He didn't mention his tagalongs on Death Eater missions the previous summer. He figured that his own father's killings got the point across well enough.

She looked into his eyes, then, and he swore that he saw actual sadness in her own.

"Is that why they're mean to you?" she asked.

"Partly," he answered honestly.

"They shouldn't blame you for his mistakes." He sighed.

"People hate me anyway. If it wasn't because of my father, they'd find a reason."

"Why?" the ghost wondered. "You aren't ugly, you don't have horrible glasses, and you use big words, so I don't think you're dim."

He knew it had something to do with how he treated them, but he shook the thought off immediately. Even if it was, why would he change? They wouldn't, he knew, no matter what he did. He'd always be the bad guy. It was just the way things worked. Besides, they were too stupid, too shallow, too horrible to treat like a human being. All of them had it so good, and they wasted it. They didn't deserve to be treated well.

"They're just cruel," he said. Then he sighed and pushed himself up off the floor. "It's late and I have to finish my patrols. But… thank you." She beamed at him.

"If you want to come again, I'll be right here."

"I'll come back on my next patrol, next Saturday," he promised. Then he walked out, hearing Myrtle laugh in the background. This time, it wasn't cruel or mocking, but it sounded like a happy laugh. Another smile made its way onto Draco's face, even as his gut twisted unpleasantly. That was a Mudblood! A dead, butt ugly Mudblood!

But she cared. She didn't know he was a Malfoy, she didn't judge him by his name or history or reputation. He'd needed her, and she'd been there, and no one else in the school would do that for him, not even his fellow Slytherins. Sometimes, he realized, blood wasn't the most important thing.

Well, as long as you were talking about a long dead ghost, that is. A long dead ghost who nobody knew you associated with. But still, the general idea of the thought was a good one, and that was surprising enough for someone who'd dubbed himself an unfeeling menace not long before that.


	5. Chapter 5

The next Monday in DADA, Draco was sitting with Granger. The class had already talked about defending yourself against Dementors, and were now supposed to try to conjure a patronus. Even though Snape had already gone over it before, and Draco had no doubt that Granger knew how to cast one, she insisted on looking everything over again, just to make sure that they were doing it right. As she studied and listed steps, Draco doodled on a spare piece of paper.

"Are you even paying attention?" she asked.

"No," he answered honestly. "this is boring as hell." She sighed and slammed the book shut.

"Okay, if you're so good, then why don't you cast one?" He stared at his wand, which was laying beside him, and took a deep breath. He hadn't conjured one before. That was one thing that Bellatrix hadn't taught him. But Malfoys never back down from challenges, so he grabbed his wand and stood up. He could already see Harry's stag towards the back of the room, and knew that if Potter could do it, he had to be able to as well.

"Fine. I will."

She watched him patiently, and he ran through the steps again and again in his head. Then he raised his wand and took a deep breath. _Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. _He stopped and paused for a moment. He couldn't think of anything. He had no happy thoughts. That wasn't fair. How could he cast a patronus if he had no happy thoughts? He desperately thought of winning the quidditch match against Hufflepuff the year before.

"Expecto patronum," he said, waving his wand. For a fraction of a second, nothing happened and it appeared as if he were going to have to face Hermione. Then Snape rushed over.

"Draco," he said hurriedly, "you are exempt from this task. I want to talk to you about it after class." Granger gave the two of them a strange look, but Snape dismissed everyone at that time, and ushered Draco to his desk.

"What is this about?" he asked Snape shortly.

"I'm sorry that I forced you to participate in this. I don't believe that you have the ability to cast a patronus." Suddenly Draco was extremely defensive.

"Who says I can't cast one? I saw Potter do it," he snapped.

"How many Death Eaters have you seen cast one?" Snape asked him sharply. Draco opened his mouth to answer, but closed it right away as he thought. He couldn't think of a single one. It was also the only spell that he'd ran into so far that year that Bellatrix hadn't taught him.

"How am I supposed to know? I don't go around and spy on them. Besides, the Dementors are on our side, so why would they cast one in the first place?"

"Mr. Malfoy, that isn't the point. The point is that they don't cast one because they can't. The Dark Lord considers it a power of good, which is an accurate description. As I have said, it is generated from good, pure thoughts. No Death Eater that I have met has been able to cast one, and I do not expect you to be able to either."

_Great. That's just beautiful. I can't cast a spell because I'm evil. That sure boosts my self-esteem. _

"Then why are you trying to teach it?" Draco retorted sharply. "If it's dangerous for me to perform it, why would you ask me to try?"

"It isn't that rare for a sixth year student to fail in conjuring one. No one will be suspicious. Don't worry about that." Draco glowered at him.

"I don't like getting outperformed by the idiots in this class." His teacher gave him what could almost pass as a smile.

"I understand that, Mr. Malfoy. But in this case, it is much safer for you not to. You may go now."

Draco left, then, and headed directly for the gardens out side of the school. They were completely empty when he got there, and the weather was perfect. It was one of those beautiful afternoons at that beginning of fall, when summer was still holding on enough for the sun to be shining brightly, but the leaves were changing to bright oranges and reds, and the breeze that blew through the grounds wasn't hot, but also wasn't cold enough to make him uncomfortable.

Most of the flowers in the gardens were still alive, although the majority were wilting, giving the entire place a dead, somewhat barren feeling.

Draco didn't mind. Everything was peaceful and quiet, and that's all that he wanted. He took a seat on a bench that he'd hidden on many times before, one the was mostly hidden behind a wall of vines. There, he stared straight ahead at the rest of the garden while he let the tangle of thoughts sort themselves out.

Snape had basically just told him that he wasn't good enough to cast a patronus. That hurt. A lot. Draco knew he wasn't a saint, but he didn't think he was _that _bad. He did good things. Sometimes. Er. He was saving three lives by not killing the Golden Trio. And he hadn't killed anone yet.

He sat there for a very long time, spinning those couple of things around in his head and trying to make them better than they really were. But even though he thought about them until he had to leave to do homework, none of his thinking could make even him see himself as a decent person.

Draco ducked back into the castle, and was ambling down to the dungeons when he ran into a couple of students snogging in the middle of the corridor.

"Break it up before I lose my lunch," Draco barked, holding up his wand as an added threat. The two jumped apart, and the anger on his face dissipated when he saw that it was Granger and Weasley. His disgust jumped to a new level, sure, but he told himself that their contact gave him a little reminder that at least something was going right.

But Granger? Draco wouldn't believe she was actually snogging someone in the middle of the hallway, let alone Weasley. Not only was it so not her, but it was also just wrong.

"Shit, it's you two. You're lucky prefects can't take points from each other," Draco spat. "That's just bloody disgusting."

"You just have to ruin everything, don't you?" Weasley accused.

"I'd like to think of it as rescuing the poor portraits from watching the two ugliest gits in school suck face. Or, in your case, Weasley, eat face. I actually feel bad for Granger, the way you were going at it."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron said. Hermione just stood there, very obviously embarrassed. Her cheeks were the color of Ron's hair.

"I was just enforcing the rules. Last time I checked, prefects were supposed to be preventing things like that. I guess the Gryffindors never got the memo."

"You have got to be kidding me," Ron complained. "You snog all ten of your girlfriends every chance you get and no one ever tells you off."

"If I had a girlfriend," Draco snapped, "I wouldn't be dumb enough to do it in the middle of a corridor. Next time you want to get cozy, I'd suggest shoving yourself in a broom closet.

"You don't have a girlfriend?" Ron asked with a snort. Hermione, finally getting over her embarrassment enough to do something, slapped him. "What, it's bloody hilarious? He's a sodding loner."

"Shut up Weasley. Just because I don't go for any easy Mudblood that comes into my lap doesn't mean that I'm a loner." After that sentence, Hermione looked at him with those stupid wounded deer eyes, which now happened to be rimmed with tears, and once again, Draco was plagued with that same queasy, twisting feeling that had been bothering him. At that moment, he finally gave the unfamiliar sensation a name. _Guilt. _Draco Malfoy was feeling guilty! The thought infuriated him.

"I cannot believe you'd go that low," Weasley spat. Hermione shook her head very slowly and whispered something to Weasley, but Draco couldn't hear what it was. He pretended not to care.

"She'd have to be easy to go after someone like you," he growled quietly, his voice low and menacing. With that, he stomped off, leaving the two of them staring after him. That ugly guilt burned in his chest for hours after that, and those stupid doe eyes just wouldn't leave him alone. He hated, completely hated, Granger for making him regret his words. He wanted to ruin her for it. Then, he got to thinking that she was too good for Draco to ruin, and that's when he asked Zabini to just knock him out, and the other Slytherin was happy to comply.

...

The next day in DADA, Granger didn't look at him for the first half of the class. They'd gone on from their patronus unit and were now doing an essay on werewolves. It was supposed to be with their partners, but as she wasn't speaking, Draco was scribbling things down that he knew from his dealings with Fenrir Greyback. He was done quickly, and when he looked up, he saw that Granger was writing her own paper too.

"We'll have to put these together," he told her stiffly.

"Then give me your paper," she muttered, not looking at him.

"Hell no. I don't trust you to not mess it up."

"I'm not stupid, Draco, although you seem to think so." That made him snort.

"I'd be barmy if I thought that. I don't think anyone thinks you're stupid."

"Then why can't I just use your paper?" she wondered.

"Because, you wouldn't read my information, and it'd end up just being your essay anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're so full of yourself that you're under the mistaken impression that you're always right, and because of that you don't take the time to listen to other people's ideas." Now it was her turn to snort.

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?" she asked him.

"I don't have some kind of glorified view of myself, okay? I don't hold myself above all other human beings. I take the time to look at every single one of them, realize that they're stupid and shallow, and treat them as such."

"Or you look and see what kind of blood they have, or what they look like, and then chose how to treat them by that."

"In case you haven't noticed, I've quit discriminating, and now simply treat everyone like shit. You can even ask Parkinson. It's kind of enjoyable, really, watching her squirm whenever I look at her." He saw Hermione's horrified look and shrugged. "She cheated on me, and I made her grow big teeth." His lips stretched into a snake-like smirk. "You remember that spell, don't you Granger?"

She cringed, no doubt thinking of the time he'd accidentally hit her with the jinx during their fourth year.

"You don't cast spells on people just because you're mad at them," she scolded.

Draco picked up his wand and flicked it at Hermione, turning one of her brown eyebrows orange.

"I know, you do it when you're annoyed at them as well."

"What did you do?" she asked nervously. With another flick of the wand, her other one turned bright green.

"Ask Weasley if he likes the new look next time you decide to start snogging in the middle of the hallways."

"Malfoy," she growled. "This is not funny." He chuckled, enjoying himself.

"Yeah, actually, it is."

"Five minutes left," Snape called. Hermione snatched Draco's essay away from him and looked it over quickly before thrusting it back into his hands.

"There, I looked at it, and there isn't even a microscopic piece of important information in there that I don't already have," she said. He looked at her in mild annoyance.

"Mine's longer than yours is."

"Not everything in there is legit."

"Granger, we are using my essay."

"No, mine is better." He lifted his wand again.

"Accio essay," he said, and hers came flying towards him. She reached for it, but with another flick of his wand, hers burst into flames.

"Slytherins use any means to achieve our ends," Draco said as an explanation to her stunned, somewhat hurt face. "You should have listened to the stupid hat when he sang his wonderful song. Maybe then you would have watched your essay a little more closely."

"Turn your essays in," Snape bellowed. Draco gave her one last smirk before walking to the front of the classroom and handing it to Snape.

"Mr. Malfoy, this is not transfiguration. I would advise you to quit changing the color of Miss Granger's eyebrows," Snape instructed him as he was leaving the classroom.

"Yes, sir," Draco said sarcastically, then promptly left the room, his smirk still decorating his face. _Someone should tell her in 3...2.…_

"Malfoy!" she shouted. His laughter echoed through the dungeons.

...

That night, Draco slipped under Potter's invisibility cloak (After a failed attempt to retrieve it had earned him a month of detention, Potter had stopped trying to steal it back and simply took to giving Draco a death stare whenever he saw him),and planted himself outside of the Gryffindor common room until a little first year came along and opened it, giving Draco time to slip in behind her.

As he'd come to expect, the Mudblood was sitting by Ron, this time with her head on his chest. Harry was sitting across from them, looking a heck of a lot like a third wheel. Sadly, Granger's eyebrows were back to normal.

"You should take her to the astronomy tower," Draco breathed into Weasley's ear. From some of his extra time in the library (because he had little else to do), he'd found a spell that could actually disguise his voice, which he took to using whenever he needed to make Weasley hear things. The funniest thing was that Ron listened to his words, as if he thought that hearing voices was normal. If it was anyone else, Draco knew that he'd have to leave notes, or something else that would take more effort than he'd been expending, but because it was Weasley, all he had to do was whisper in his ear. "She'd like that, don't you think?"

Ron, who'd gotten quite used to the little voice in his head, grinned.

"Hey, Hermione. It's a really beautiful night, and we don't have any homework. Do you want to go to the astronomy tower? I bet there'll be lots of stars."

Granger grinned up at him so big that Draco wondered if it didn't hurt. She looked funny when she was happy like that, because whenever he saw her, she was always mad. He wondered if it had anything to do with him, and he decided that it most likely did. That bothered him, just a little. Someone who smiled so much, and he knew she did, shouldn't frown whenever he was around. He wasn't that bad, was he?

Yeah, he was. He knew that. And no one deserved anything different from him. His father had treated him like crap, and now everyone else did too, so there was no reason he shouldn't go around and bully them all back.

"I guess I'll see you guys later, then," Harry called as they were already leaving the room. His eyes were distant and sad, and there was even a small trace of betrayal on his face. His friends meant the world to him, Draco saw that plainly.

But he still had to break them up. It'd be better that way, he was sure of it. Then it wouldn't be so hard for them after Harry died. He was doing them a favor.

_Then why doesn't it feel like it? _

He swatted the stupid question away. It had no place in his head.

Still…. Harry didn't look too happy.

At tht moment, some other Gryffindor opened the portrait, and Draco all but dove out of there. He needed to get away from Potter before the stupid git made him feel guilty like it seemed everyone else was trying to do those days.


	6. Chapter 6

That night, Draco was woken by spikes of freezing cold air that went straight through his chest.

"What the-" he started, but Moaning Myrtle put a glowing blue finger to his lips.

"Be quiet," she urged him. "It's late."

"Yeah, I noticed," he mumbled, not thrilled about his wakeup call. _So this is what I get for being nice to a dead person. _

"You need to help me," the ghost told him.

"With what?" His words were slightly slurred because he wasn't fully awake.

"Hermione Granger had gone wandering, and that girl attacked her. She isn't moving."

"Wait… what girl?" Then he remembered seeing Pansy slipping out of the common room earlier that night.

"Pansy Parkinson," Myrtle spat as soon as he came to the same realization, the word coming out of her mouth in the same tone that one would use to talk about foot fungus.

Suddenly, Draco was much more awake.

"What is Pansy doing wandering around at night?" he asked Myrtle.

"How am I supposed to know?" the ghost asked him. "I just know that Hermione isn't moving." Draco, despite being shocked by the news, managed to detach himself from it as much as he could, although not even he could stop the tiny flow of dread that seemed to be winding through his chest.

"Is she dead?"

"I don't know," Myrtle answered. "But there's a lot of blood, so she will be soon."

He could just leave Granger where she was, tell Myrtle that he didn't feel like playing hero. Then he wouldn't have to worry about getting rid of her. He'd just have to off Weasley. Everything would be easier if he just left her.

_But she doesn't deserve it. _

That was true. He knew it. Hermione was good. Really and truly good. Sometimes she even tried not to hate him, and even though she couldn't quite manage it, at least she made the effort every once in a while, unlike everyone else.

She was a Mudblood, though. Their lives didn't matter.

But they did. Look at Myrtle. Even though she was dead, Draco had to admit that talking to her had mattered to him.

Hermione mattered to Ron, to Harry, to most of the school actually. Just because Draco didn't care- and he didn't care at all, just to make that clear- didn't mean that no one else did.

But they hated him. He hated them. Why would he save Hermione for them?

Because, she didn't deserve to die.

"Please," Myrtle pleaded. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and threw his robes over his head.

"Let's go," he said darkly, and she followed him through the dungeons, then started leading him through the school to where Hermione was.

"Why did you come to me?" Draco asked her as they hurried down a long corridor.

"You're the only one nice enough to help." Again, there was that stupid guilt that was pestering him so much lately. He shouldn't be feeling it. He was a Death Eater. He wasn't supposed to be nice. He wasn't supposed to care that he'd obviously given Myrtle a very false impression of what kind of person he was.

But was it a false impression? Was he mean to anyone who didn't deserve it? He'd tried to be nice to Harry the first time they'd met. Sure, he never gave Ron or Hermione a chance, but that's because Ron was a Weasley and Hermione was a Mudblood. They didn't deserve his respect.

What did it matter, though, if someone had good blood or bad blood?

It wasn't their fault. They couldn't help it. It just was. Why should he hold it against them?

Because his father had told him to. They were gits anyway. If Harry Potter hadn't been 'the boy who lived', or if Ron wasn't a Weasley, or if Granger had been a pureblood, he was sure he'd still hate them.

Well, obviously. Because he hated everybody.

But when he thought about it more, even if he figured he'd hate them all now, he didn't think he would have when they were younger, back when he could still get joy out of some things. He doubted they ever would have been actual friends, but if their names, or blood status, or history, would have been different, he wouldn't have hated them.

He chased the thoughts away. There was no reason to think about what could have been.

Besides, they held his last name against him. If he hadn't been a Malfoy, they wouldn't have hated him like they do. He was sure of that.

Even Granger? She never rubbed his father in his face, as both Weasley and Potter had done on numerous occasions. She'd mentioned trying to see good in him, but it wasn't his name that stopped her, but his actions. Or, according to Snape, it was because there wasn't any good to find.

He was sure that Potter and Weasley saw the Malfoy name as something to fear and hate.

He was just as positive that Granger didn't care. Sure, that first day in DADA, they'd gotten into that argument about her treating him unfairly because of who he was, and he'd won it, but he also hadn't been fair. His warning hadn't exactly been honest, and he'd twisted every little thing she did into something it wasn't. She hadn't been prejudiced, but more or less logical.

It didn't matter, though. She may not hate him because of his name, but she did hate him because of himself. So, he concluded, all of that thinking did nothing except made him realize that Granger just hated him for a slightly more noble reason than her friends.

"You're almost there," Myrtle said once they'd gone up the fifth staircase. "She's right…." She trailed off when they found her.

"Oh God," Draco whispered. Lying in the middle of the corridor was the Mudblood he hated so much. Her usually pale skin now looked as though it belonged on a corpse. Her wild brown hair splayed out from her body and was soaked in the pool of blood that completely surrounded her.

The shocked Slytherin knelt beside the Gryffindor, his knees getting soaked in her 'dirty' blood. Carefully, agonizingly carefully, he put his hand to her neck. There was the faintest pulse, but he could tell it wasn't going to last long.

He tried to figure out what spell could have been cast on her, but it didn't look like a spell. Instead, it appeared that someone had taken a sword to her. There was one gash that curved from the top of her shoulder and down her back, and then a deep one along her stomach, her robes torn open.

"She found Pansy using a mirror... sending a message to someone, so Pansy sent the statues after her," Myrtle said, answering Draco's unasked question. "I tried to stop them, but I couldn't."

"You did fine," Draco whispered. Then he turned to look at the ghost. "Go tell McGonagall that one of her students has been attacked, and that she needs immediate medical attention," he told her, and she floated away.

Draco, then, didn't know what to do. He stayed in the puddle of sticky blood and stared at the girl in front of him. Part of him wanted to leave, but then another, different part couldn't. She was dying, and that part felt like it needed to do something, anything, to help her.

Then, without thinking about it, he grabbed her hand. It was the only thing he could think of. Her skin was freezing cold.

Her eyes fluttered open at the contact, and a small groan escaped her lips.

"Malfoy," she choked out, looking at him with her huge brown eyes. There was no hate, no judgment. She almost looked happy. The natural sweetness was there too, the gentleness that never really left, even when she was trying to glare. Mixed in with that was a flickering fire as well, the fire that seemed to flare up whenever she was arguing with Draco. Now, it was smaller than he'd ever seen it, as though it was almost going to be put out. The strangest feeling of dread radiated through his chest when he saw that, and suddenly a huge lump found its way into his throat.

"Don't die, Granger. I need someone to test my hexes on in Snape's." Her pale, purplish lips curved into a semblance of a smile, and her hand held onto his even more tightly.

"I still need to take my N.E.W.T.S," she choked out hoarsely. Then she coughed, just a little, and whispered one more word. "Stay." With that word, her grip lessened, just slightly, and her eyes fluttered shut.

"If she survives this," Draco muttered to himself, trying his hardest not to feel anything at all, "I'm going to get her sent of to St. Mungo's. Her N.E.W.T.S? She's bloody insane."

Hermione, maybe hearing his words, stirred just slightly, and her hand gripped his more tightly, as if she were hanging on for dear life. Draco took a deep breath. His face was impassive as always, but deep down, he found his brain pestering him with one question that he didn't want to answer.

_Why did I treat her like shit? _

That's when Draco realized that even though he was a monster and a Death Eater, the spawn of Satan and someone to be feared, he was feeling sorrow at the death of a Mudblood.

A Mudblood who'd worried about him when he said he wouldn't mind receiving a Dementor's kiss.

A Mudblood who was nice to the entire school.

A Mudblood who even tried, once or twice, to be nice to him.

It wasn't an act, he was now sure of that.

It was because she was a purely good person.

He felt his eyes burning, just slightly, and he had to squeeze them shut to keep tears from seeping out.

"Dear Lord," someone whispered from behind him. "Myrtle, contact Madam Pomfrey at once. Mr. Malfoy, please assist me. We have to start immediately. She's already lost a dangerous amount of blood."

Professor McGonagall rushed up behind him and kneeled in the blood as he had done. Draco turned to see Myrtle floating up through the ceiling before he turned his attentions back to the girl.

Then he looked back at McGonagall for instructions, but she was already busy.

"Vulnera Sanentur," she said softly, then she chanted the word two more times. The first time, the blood flow eased. The second time, her skin started to knit, and the third caused the worst of the scaring to heal.

"Is she going to be okay?" Draco asked once McGonagall was finished. He shouldn't care. He really shouldn't. But he did.

"I don't know," Gryffindor's head of house said softly. "She lost a lot of blood, and there's no magic to heal that." Seconds later, Madam Pomfrey came rushing down the corridor along with Myrtle.

"I can take care of this from here," the head nurse said, then cast a spell that lifted Hermione's body gently off the ground, and started for the hospital wing.

"Is that safe?" Draco found himself asking.

"Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy. Poppy knows what she's doing."

"I wasn't worrying," Draco mumbled.

"Yes you were," Myrtle sang from behind him. Draco jumped a little; he'd forgotten she was there.

"Next time you say that," he warned her. McGonagall flinched. "I'll curse your head off." Then Myrtle giggled. The professor looked up in what could only be described as shock.

"You don't scare me," she said, smiling down at Draco. "Oh, and thank you for listening." Then she turned and flew through the wall.

"She didn't cry," McGonagall stated.

"She knew I wasn't serious. Besides, she's dead. Why would she be scared?"

"Myrtle always cries." Draco shrugged uncomfortably. He didn't want anyone, even a teacher, finding out about the dead girl's slightly unhealthy trust of him.

"I guess not." They stood there for a while, in the middle of the puddle of blood. Draco's knees and hands were uncomfortably sticky from kneeling in it.

He looked down at the puddle, at the red stains on his robes. The blood looked exactly like his did. No different from it at all, actually. Not dirty whatsoever. Obviously he knew that, but actually seeing it somehow made the whole Pureblood-Mudblood thing seem kind of stupid. Not like he could say anything without his family getting killed for it, but it was an epiphany of sorts, just inside his head. Blood was blood. Some people's had magic, and some people's didn't. It was nature, not politics.

"Mr. Malfoy," his professor inquired. He jerked his head up, now feeling guilty for thinking that the prejudices he'd been raised on were pointless. Or, maybe guilty wasn't the right word. No, it wasn't guilty. He felt… somewhat paranoid, actually. Like he shouldn't be thinking it because bad things would happen, not because it was wrong to think it.

"Yeah?"

"Come to my office. I need to know what happened."

Draco followed her, then recounted the entire thing, starting with Myrtle waking him up, then finding Hermione like that, and on to sending the ghost after her. When he was finished, McGonagall looked him directly in the eye.

"And do you know who did it?" Then he answered her honestly, mostly because he was still pissed at Pansy.

"Yes, I do."

"And?"

"Myrtle told me it was Pansy Parkinson."

"Do you have proof?"

"Proof? Of course I don't have proof! It's not like I caught her in the act. But Myrtle saw it and said it was her, and I saw her leaving the common room earlier that night. Ask the portraits, or ask another ghost. Someone had to have seen her."

"I believe you," she said, but in the kind of voice that could only have a 'but' attached. Sure enough, it did. "But I can't say that I'll be able to confirm anything tonight. We will investigate further."

"It was her," Draco insisted one more time.

"She is innocent until proven guilty," said McGonagall sternly, leaving no more room for discussion. "Now, I have one more question before letting you go."

"Which is?"

"Do you know how it happened?"

"Myrtle said that Parkinson had bewitched the statues to make them attack her. I guess I forgot to see if they were out of their spots or anything, but it'd make sense. I think Hermione caught her doing something she wasn't supposed to be."

"Yes, it would make sense," the professor muttered, then she looked back up at Draco. "You may go now, although I must say I am more proud of you than I can put into words. You saved the life of one of your enemies with quick thinking and surprising finesse. It is very admirable."

"Thank you," Draco said. If he hadn't had so much practice on keeping his emotions under control, his jaw probably would have hit the floor. No one had ever said anything like that to him. No one. Ever. He'd done something admirable. Him, a Death Eater, had done something admirable. The thought just didn't seem to work in his brain.

"I was only speaking the truth. You have nothing to thank me for. Now, you may go. I'm sure that you wish to get some sleep before the next day.

"Yes, but, can I ask you one favor?"

"Certainly."

"Please don't tell anyone. It… if people found out about this… I would be in a lot of trouble. And please tell Granger, if she wakes up, to not say anything either…if she even remembers."

She smiled at him sadly.

"No one will have to know," she said. "But I do believe that Slytherin deserves a large amount of points for your deeds." Draco swallowed, then shook his head.

"What house was Myrtle in?" he asked. _Have I gone mental? This is just stupid. _

"Pardon?"

"What house did Myrtle belong to when she attended Hogwarts?" McGonagall smiled, realized why he was asking. _Apparently I have. God, I'm dragged into saving one girl and suddenly I think I'm some kind of pathetic do-gooder. My Daddy would be so proud. _

"I believe that she was a Ravenclaw."

"Then give the points to them. Tomorrow, I want you to announce that she went straight to you after she found Granger, and that she's the one who saved her. I wouldn't have known if she hadn't gotten me, so really it was all her anyway."

"Mr. Malfoy, I have to admit to being very impressed with you tonight. Tomorrow at breakfast, I will announce that Myrtle had saved Miss Granger, and will award Ravenclaw with their points, but I do admit that I would feel guilty if Slytherin got nothing."

"Parkinson probably attacked her, so my finding her would only even it out," Draco said. Then, before he could do anything else that anyone could consider…. nice, he left.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day at breakfast, McGonagall, true to her word, gave the points to Ravenclaw, announcing that Myrtle had saved a student's life, and then she went on, revealing that Hermione Granger had been attacked, possibly by another student, and that the matter was being investigated. Very oddly, Pansy was absent.

After breakfast, Draco should have expected Weasley and Potter to find him. He really should have. But maybe pulling off an act of actual kindness had damaged his brain. He wouldn't be surprised if it had. Above all else, Malfoys were not kind. His body probably had internal defenses against it, and it was only natural that there'd be side effects.

"What did you do to her?" Weasley growled at him, pushing him up against the wall. Harry glowered over his friend's shoulder.

For once in his life, Draco's face showed actual surprise. He shouldn't have been surprised. No one ever surprised him. But after actually saving Granger, it was just unexpected to be accused of trying to kill her. Actually, at that moment, with thoughts of holding her hand and wanting nothing but to keep her alive flying through his head, well, the thought of doing something like that to her didn't seem possible.

"I didn't do anything," he insisted.

"He's a Death Eater, Ron," Harry said. "He wants to kill off the Muggle-borns. Check his arm." His stomach twisted in horror.

"Get your filthy hands off me," Draco tried to snap, but his words came out in an extremely pleading tone. He tried to struggle, but it was two on one.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, let him go this instant," McGonagall snapped, just as Ron got his hands on the struggling Malfoy's sleeve. Both him and Harry stepped back in shock, and Draco fell to the ground, his knees shaking with pure relief.

"Mr. Malfoy, you may go now." Draco didn't complain, slinking off to potions as quickly as he could, his heart still thudding against his chest.

_Well, _he thought grimly, _there's the proof that I'm not the only one who's prejudiced. _

He wondered if Granger would have accused him if Harry or Ron had been hospitalized. No, he decided. She wouldn't have. He couldn't imagine her cornering him anyway. Punching him, sure, but only when he was being an arse to her face. She needed facts for everything, though, and he knew she wouldn't blame him unless she was absolutely sure. Right?

His doubt left him when he remembered her holding onto his hand the night before, looking up at him with those big brown eyes. It was like she wanted him there, like she needed him. She'd even told him to stay. No, she wouldn't have cornered him and yelled at him. She was too good to do that.

Draco pushed his mind away from her when Slughorn started talking, but just before he started trying to brew his potion, he allowed himself to think of the small, purple-lipped smile she'd given him after he'd ordered her to stay alive. Even though his face stayed blank, the thought made his cold gray eyes soften, just marginally.

After all his classes were done that day, he put himself under Potter's cloak again, but this time it wasn't because he wanted to play matchmaker. No, he wanted to see how Granger was doing.

He didn't actually care, obviously. He'd helped her and now whatever happened would happen. But he wanted to know. So he could be mad at her if she died. You know, for putting him through that effort. Because he'd gotten up in the middle of the night and covered himself in blood for her. And it'd be a waste if she died.

No one was there when he snuck into the hospital wing, so he just sat in a chair beside her bed and watched her. She was sitting up, and even though she looked pale, she was awake. He guessed they'd managed to get some blood into her to keep her alive. It was surprising that she managed not to die. She always seemed to mess things up.

"Are you awake, Hermione?" an all too familiar voice asked from behind him. Draco sighed internally, then pushed himself out of his chair and leaned against the wall across the room from her bed.

Moments later, the other two musketeers came trampling in, their boisterous movements a hilariously sharp contrast to Draco's undetected entrance.

"Are you okay?" Potter asked, his face filled with nothing but concern.

"Now I am, yes," she said softly. Her voice was still slightly hoarse.

"That old hag hasn't been treating you too badly, has she?" Ron wondered, planting a kiss on her forehead. Draco tried not to gag.

"She isn't that bad," Hermione scolded, the corners of her lips lifting just a little bit.

"Of course she isn't," Ron said sarcastically. Then he plopped down into a chair beside her, while Harry stood behind them.

"Don't be so hard on her. She has to deal with students like you and Harry all the time." A smirk found its way to Draco's lips.

"Hey, you've been here before, too," complained Ron.

"I got petrified by a basilisk," Hermione said, "I could hardly help that. But let's see… you've fallen off a giant stone horse while playing life-sized wizarding chess…"

"For you," he tried. Hermione thankfully ignored him. If she would've made some gross romantic comment, Draco would have thrown up.

"You've had your leg torn apart by Sirius while you were trying to rescue your evil rat…"

"He could have been more gentle," Ron interrupted again.

"Then there are those Quidditch accidents…"

"It's a dangerous sport."

"And that time you couldn't stop throwing up slugs after Malfoy called me a Mudblood for the first time."

"If I would've known he'd eventually replace your name with that, I would've saved myself the trouble." Malfoy felt himself smirking, right along with Granger's smiling.

"Yeah, you'd have some troubles if you tried to hex him every time he said that now." Ron took her hand.

"Speaking of Malfoy," Harry said, speaking up for the first time. The two lovebirds both started, as if they'd forgotten about him. "Just who did this to you?"

Hermione sat up a little straighter, her eyes darkening slightly.

"You think it was Malfoy," she said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Well, who else would it be?"

"Pansy Parkinson did it," Hermione said, her tone defensive. For some stupid reason, Draco liked that. "McGonagall talked to me this morning, and she's most likely going to be expelled." Hermione almost sounded like she felt bad about it. Draco tried not to snort, realizing that there was a such thing as being too nice. Even he was happy that Pansy was going to be gone. If anything, Granger should be organizing a powwow or something. Parkinson was even worse to her than Malfoy usually was.

"I bet Malfoy set her up," Ron said. _Isn't he just friendly, trying to find out how to blame me. _

"You're trying to figure out a way to blame him, aren't you?" It was eerie, how she'd voiced exactly what he'd been thinking. He shook it off as dumb coincidence.

"Yes, we are. Because we know it was him. We cornered him today, and he started freaking out when Ron tried to get his left sleeve down," insisted Harry.

"You what?" Hermione exclaimed, sounding horrified. The Slytherin's smirk grew as he took in her reaction.

"I said we-"

"I heard you," she said. "But why? It wasn't him, I can assure you of that."

"Did he use a memory charm on you?" Ron wondered.

"No, he did not. It was Pansy, not Malfoy, I'm pretty sure."

"Then why did he freak out when we tried to look at his arm?" Draco kicked himself at that once he thought about how obvious he'd been. It didn't bother him for long, though. Next time they tried that crap, he would curses them so hard that their grandchildren would feel it.

"If someone walked up to you and started trying to look at your arms for no reason, wouldn't you freak out too?"

"Whatever," Ron said, losing his steam. "It was still him."

"Ron, do you know Malfoy said a few weeks ago, when we were in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"What?"

"That everyone else was just as prejudiced as Slytherins, because they made his house, made him, out to be the bad guys no matter what. You're proving him right. I saw who did it, and you still try to argue that it was his fault anyway, when I know it wasn't."

"But it's Malfoy," Ron insisted.

"And? I know he didn't do it, so just drop it."

"Fine. I don't know what kind of medicine they're giving you, but it's obviously messing with your head, if you're defending that git." Hermione squeezed his hand a little bit.

"Aw, you're so cute when you're mad," she said. _That's just a little disgusting. _

"Oh, shut up," Ron said, kissing the hand.

"You guys, please," Harry said. _Thank you, Potter. _

"Sorry," Hermione said, blushing furiously.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" the medi-witch's familiar voice called. "She needs rest. You can visit with her later, when she's released."

"But-"

"No buts. Let her sleep." Then she waved her wand as she chased the other two wizards out of the room. Draco stayed behind and waited for the nurse to check over Hermione. When Pomfrey told the girl that she'd be able to return to classes the next day, Draco had to smirk, just a little. Not because he was excited for her to come back, but because he'd had to practice his hexes on Snape that day, and it was even worse than Hermione. That was the only reason he wanted her in class. Obviously.

"You're very lucky that boy got help for you as quickly as he did." She smiled gently.

"I know, I am." Then the nurse left. Draco slowly walked back over to her bed and studied the pale girl lying there, her wild chestnut hair spilling over the pillow, and her dark eyes smiling just because that was the way they were. As he watched her, her eyes slowly closed, and he realized that her dark lashes were so long that they almost brushed against her cheeks.

As he studied her, he realized how appropriately colored her hair and eyes were- the same brown as mud. He didn't think it maliciously, but more just acknowledging the fact. Really, neither her hair or eyes were ugly. Actually, her eyes were… not ugly.

And with that awkward, strangled thought, he got out of there as quickly as he could, before he thought something else that wasn't only stupid, but dangerous. The epiphany that he'd had the night before didn't just magically wipe away sixteen years worth of teachings, and thinking anything like that about the Mudblood was still borderline disgusting for him. Besides, if his father, or any of the Dark Lord's followers, knew he was thinking things like that, well… it wouldn't turn out well.

...

The next morning, Pansy wasn't at breakfast, and Draco heard whispers going around that she'd left the previous night, all of her bags with her. Sure enough, when Draco asked Hestia, she told him that her things were gone. He fixed Zabini with an evil smile. Blaise ignored him.

All of Draco's classes that day flew by quickly up until Transfiguration. That was the class before DADA, and every second seemed to stretch out into hundreds. He knew that Granger was aware that he saved her, and he wanted to see her reaction. He didn't know if she was going to suddenly start being nice to him, and he wouldn't know how to react if she did. If she kept up the usual 'I'm smarter than you' attitude that she reserved just for Draco, then everything would be fine. If not... he had no idea what he'd do. The notion was too strange to think about.

He glanced at her, sitting across the room, but she was twirling her hair for Weasley. Immediately he looked away and focused on his book.

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said. After her conversation with him two days previously, she'd been treating him slightly differently. Better, almost. Like she respected him.

"Um, yes?"

"As you haven't found anything this year difficult so far, I would like to see you attempt to demonstrate how you would turn a person into an animal. I do believe that you are familiar with the art." He cringed, remembering getting turned into a ferret his fourth year by his crazy DADA teacher.

"Yeah, I'll try. Where's MacMillan?" Ernie MacMillan was the class's test dummy of choice. It was more or less because he was the only Hufflepuff who'd managed to get into the higher level transfiguration class, and as his house was usually downtrodden upon by the Slytherins and even Ravenclaws, he became more or less the guinea pig, unless a Gryffindor was called upon to demonstrate.

As always, Ernie cooperated the best he could, and sauntered to the front of the classroom. Draco gave him a mischievous smile.

"If you lose any limbs, it's not my fault," he told him, then drew on his hours of practice with his aunt, waved his wand, and turned Ernie MacMillan into a boar. Big black eyes looked up at him. McGonagall started clapping.

"Never in my years of teaching have I had such talented students. Both you and Miss Granger are performing magic that wizards and witches much older than you have trouble with. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you've been practicing over the summer." Draco smirked at her.

"I would never consider doing anything like that," he said innocently. Then he almost kicked himself. What was he doing, bantering with a teacher like that? He was going soft. That's what he got for talking to stupid fat ghosts and saving Mudbloods.

"Of course not," McGonagall agreed with a good natured smile. Draco tried to glare at her, but her remarks about how proud she'd been of him, about how great he was, came back to him, and could do nothing other than return to his seat.

"Now, Miss Granger, would you care to change Mr. Macmillan back to his original form?" Draco buried his face in his book, not letting himself watch her, because watching her would turn into more bad thoughts and then bad actions, and he simply couldn't let that happen.

"Very good, Miss Granger," their professor said, clapping once again. Draco allowed himself a small glance up and saw a perfectly human Ernie Macmillan in front of them. Annoyed that Granger was on level with him even after his training, he twisted his face into a scowl and kept to himself the rest of the class period.

After transfiguration, he seriously debated just faking sick, but no doubt they'd send him to Pomfrey, and he absolutely did not want to go through a visit with her for an imaginary cold, so he trudged down to Snape's classroom as slowly as he could, not wanting to get to class any earlier than he had to. If he was late enough, he knew, then there'd be little chance to talk.

"Ten points from Slytherin," Snape stated when Draco walked in after everyone else. He ignored the glowers from his housemates and plopped down into his seat next to Hermione. Her stupid brown eyes wouldn't leave his face. As a precaution, he made sure to reinforce the chains around his heart, which had unfortunately gotten weaker the past few days. He wasn't positive, but he didn't think that his efforts made much of a difference.

"If I have heard correctly, I do believe that most of you have received a demonstration of the three unforgivable curses in your fourth year," Snape said to start his lecture. Several students squirmed uncomfortably, and Draco had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. _I've had exclusive demonstrations with one of them many times. _

He'd also seen the other two in use, as well as being taught how to cast them. All in all, the three spells that so many feared were almost basic to him.

"Well, I will not go so far as to demonstrate them, but I do, however, want you to know how to defend yourselves against them. First, we will focus on the Cruciatus curse." Several of his classmates flinched, but the mention of it did nothing to Draco. It was practically dinnertime conversation at his house. "I want a three foot long essay on what it does, how it is cast, and the long term effects that it could cause. You may consult your partners on it today, but I expect each of you to do further research on it later. It is due next Wednesday. I'd encourage you to get to work immediately."

Draco sighed, then started writing furiously, making a rough outline of everything he knew. He wasn't planning on using a book. He didn't need to.

After writing for a couple minutes, he noticed Granger's eyes on him and glanced up.

"Enjoying the view?" he wondered. Instead of blushing, like any normal girl, she just waved his comment away.

"You're writing a lot down," she stated.

"And you're writing nothing down," he said in the same tone, taking note of her nearly blank sheet of paper.

"Because we're supposed to be discussing what we're writing," she said.

The sentences were said in awkward, clipped tones, and neither of them met the other's eye when they were talking. He didn't want to work with her. It would probably only make the twisting in his gut worse.

"When have you ever needed my help?" he asked bitterly. Then he realized what he said, and wanted to perform the Cruciatus on himself. That was stupid. Seriously? When have you ever needed my help? Two days after he saved her life. _Wow, Draco. Way to pretend like nothing ever happened. _

"I think you know the answer to that," she said simply. There was another bout of extremely awkward silence before she sighed. "I know that you still hate me, and I don't expect anything to be different, so why don't we just pretend that nothing has ever happened, and get done with our work?"

Yeah, she could say that. She wasn't fully coherent when the handholding, and joking, and smiling was all going on. She could easily pretend that nothing had happened. For Draco, though, it wasn't going to be quite that easy. He was thankful for the proposal, however, so he nodded in agreement.

"Okay, Granger. But if everything goes back to normal, then why do you expect me to help you?"

"I don't want help. I want ideas."

"Isn't it the same thing in this case?."

"Malfoy," she complained.

"Well, the spell hurts like hell," he said with just a little too much familiarity in his tone. Granger tilted her head at him, giving him a very strange look.

"You say that like you know."

He kept his composure, although he was annoyed at her for noticing something like that.

"It isn't that hard to figure out," he told her forcefully. She studied him for a while longer, then she shook her head.

"I already knew that," she finally said.

"Well, you said you wanted to share ideas, and I just did, but because you're a know-it-all little arseho-"

"Haven't you ever heard that saying, 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all'?" she wondered, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence.

"So you want me to quit speaking?" She laughed.

He wanted to hurt himself. He was joking. With someone he wasn't supposed to be joking with, let alone speaking with. He looked back at his paper, then fiercely continued writing, doing his best to ignore the stupid Gryffindor girl who seemed to have an affinity for forcing him into talking.

The second class was done, he streaked out of that classroom and headed directly for the dungeons, not wanting to give Granger another chance to speak to him.

...

The last two days of that week, he tried as hard as he could to put his thoughts where they should be. Every day after classes, he'd put Potter's cloak on and throw himself into making Ron and Hermione the most nauseatingly cute couple anyone had ever seen. He'd leave love notes around and whisper in Ron's ear, causing him to say and do things that made Hermione blush and giggle. Once, he even stuffed a poem in Ron's bag, and when he read it, his face turned beet red, but he gave Granger a look that truly did make Malfoy sick.

When he wasn't doing that, he scoured the library for curses and potions that would be considered deadly, trying to convince himself he really was doing something about his Dumbledore problem, when really he was only finding ways to shoot down anything that sounded like it'd work.

That Friday during DADA, the class was required to undergo a simple test that supposedly simulated the Cruciatus curse to an extent, so that Snape could be assured they had some kind of idea about what it felt like. If comfortable with the activity, the student would have to approach an artifcact imbedded with a curse similar to a weakened Cruciatus and stand it for as long as they felt comfortable.

When Snape had explained the activity, the class got into a line, all of them whispering and humming nervously, except for Draco, who was, of course, accustomed to much worse than he knew this was going to be.

"Does it hurt?" Granger asked him once they'd gotten closer to the front. He let out an over-exaggerated sigh.

"For the millionth time, Granger, I do not know. Would you get that idea through your thick skull?" His voice was extremely condescending, as though he were talking to a small child. As a reward, she tried to shoot him a glare, although it kind of gave Draco the impression of one of those puffy little dogs that barked all the time, trying to be meaner than they really were.

"You're a lying git," she told him.

"And you aren't as scary as you think you are," he said. To which she raised her wand and gave him a very nice nonverbal stinging jinx. He staggered back, but didn't completely fall.

"You're like a Pomeranian," he continued. "You try to act mean, but it just comes across as bloody annoying, and the Lord knows you have the hair for it." She tried to glare at him again, but she was too amused for it to turn out well, a smile breaking across her face despite her best efforts. Draco smirked at her reaction.

"Compare me to a dog one more time-"

"Miss Granger," Snape droned, ready to produce another ball.

"Enjoy," said Draco darkly.

He tried not to care when the thing started, and she crumpled to her knees. And he tried not to be relieved when she looked up with a twisted face, grabbed her wand, and deactivated the artifact, but he hated seeing her in pain like that. She was too sweet for pain, too good. _What am I thinking? It doesn't matter what kind of pain she goes through. _Yet, when she was done, he couldn't help but relax.

Draco quickly stepped up to his place, glad that he was going to get smacked with a painful curse, because he deserved it after worrying about a Mudblood. With one last glance at a slightly frazzled looking Hermione, he cleared Snape to start.

The pain didn't knock him to his knees. It got the burning sensation of the Cruciatus right, but it wasn't half as bad at the actual thing, and Draco had known it was coming. Not letting his placid face show the pain he was feeling, he pulled out his wand and stopped the curse, while the rest of the class watched in a mix of shock and something almost like awe.

Almost immediately, Granger shot him an 'I told you so' look, and he glared back at her, and mouthed, "Pomeranian", which caused her to attempt another amusing dog glare. He tried not to laugh as he turned away and returned to his seat.


	8. Chapter 8

That Saturday, most of the school went on their first Hogsmeade trip, but Draco stayed behind and lurked around the dungeons most of the day, already losing all desire to participate in any activity that was supposed to be 'fun'.

However, that night, true to his promise, Draco visited Myrtle on his weekly patrol. At first he thought he wouldn't be able to slip away because with Pansy gone, Daphne Greengrass was bumped up as a temporary replacement until the next year, where the teachers would officially decide on a new prefect.

At first Draco let her tag along beside him, but he started getting impatient at her pace, which was impossibly slow. Finally, as she took the time to peek into another closet that no idiot would possibly hide in, he sighed.

"I have to go," Draco told her. "I'm meeting someone." She looked up in annoyance.

"You have duties, Malfoy, and we aren't finished with them yet."

"And if you keep up that pace, we won't be finished with them tomorrow either, and there's no way in hell I'm spending that much time on this."

"But-" He took his wand out of his pocket, not looking up, but just turning it in his fingers, as if he'd gotten the sudden urge to just mess around with it. The sight of the thing stopped her sentence instantly.

"Pardon me, you were saying?"

"Go," she said through clenched teeth.

"That's what I thought," said Draco smugly, slipping the wand back into his robes.

At first he walked, but when she was out of sight, he took off in a dead sprint towards the bathroom. The second he stepped through the door, Myrtle soared out of one of the stalls and landed almost right in front of him.

"Hello," he said politely. She looked at him almost proudly.

"I didn't know if you'd come," she confided. "They all said that they would, but not a single one ever came. But you did." Her pudgy face was covered in such disbelief that he felt himself pitying the poor girl. Here he was, pushing everyone away when he could have hordes of friends. He doubted that Myrtle ever had even one, even in death. It wasn't right, how he was ignoring everything that he'd been given.

But he wouldn't change. Maybe if someone actually deserved his friendship, then he'd give it to them. But the problem was that no one did. The school was full of moronic baboons who thought he was a Death Eater simply because of his last name. Sure, he _was_ a Death Eater, but it wasn't like he was strutting around and putting his blasted Dark Mark on display or anything.

"Malfoys keep promises," he told her honestly. And they did. The only problem was that usually, the promises that they made weren't to the right people.

"So you are a Malfoy? I heard that professor say that to you," she said, and suddenly he felt himself get extremely defensive. She was going to do it, too. He'd been stupid enough to let her know his name, and she was going to push him away like everyone else did.

"Yes," he said stiffly. "Draco Malfoy." She let out an airy sigh, and Draco braced himself for what she was going to say next. He started icing down his heart for what he knew was coming.

"They all say that you're supposed to be cruel," she said softly. He opened his mouth to speak, to yell at her actually, but she kept going in that same fragile voice she always spoke in. "But you came back, when they never have. I think that they were lying. You wouldn't lie to me."

Draco relaxed, then smirked at the ghost.

"Thank you," he said. When she gave him a slightly blank expression, he elaborated. "For trusting me." No one, not even his mother really, had been confident enough in him to say that they knew he wouldn't lie.

"It's only the truth," she said. "Now do you want to hear about my death?" And because he liked her, and did want to hear about it, he smiled just slightly.

"I would love to." Then she opened her mouth and started the tale of her own experiences with Lord Voldemort. When she had finished, she looked to Draco.

"Isn't that horrible?" she wondered. He ignored the question.

"I know which boy was speaking, the one who killed you," he told her. She glanced up in surprise. "Tom Riddle," he said. "He attended Hogwarts when you did, didn't he?" Suddenly an almost dreamy expression came over her face, and she even smiled at little bit.

"I don't think it was Tom. He was always so nice to me, and so handsome…" Draco tried not to throw up. That was just disgusting. The thought of someone dreaming about Lord Voldemort was just wrong. Even when he thought of Tom Riddle, his master's snakelike face popped into his head.

"He was twisted," Draco said sharply. "Have you heard what he's turned into now?" She looked at him blankly.

"No… I guess not."

"Have you heard of Lord Voldemort?"

"Of course," she said. "The teachers talk about him all the time. He's killed thousands…."

"That is Tom Riddle," he told her flatly. She looked at him in shock.

"I don't think-" Draco then took out his wand and started writing on the floor. His father had shown him memories of the young Lord Voldemort, the one who'd attended school here, to show him how to conduct himself. When Draco hadn't believed the two could be the same person, Lucius had then drawn out the names, and asked him if it could be a coincidence. Of course, it couldn't be.

"What are you writing?" Myrtle wondered. Then Draco took a step back. On the floor were the words, TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE.

"Now watch," he ordered. And the letters rearranged themselves into the sentence, I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. "The same letters," he said. "That's too big of a coincidence."

"But Tom?" He sighed.

"Myrtle, I'm not stupid. I know that facts."

"How?" His eyes flashed to her, and he started speaking, completely unaware of what he was actually saying.

"Do you know what a Death Eater is?"

"One of his followers. They all say that your Professor Snape is because he has a mark on his arm that looks like…" She trailed off as Draco lifted the sleeve of his robes. "That," she finished in a whisper.

"My father served him," Draco said darkly, "But he screwed up. So for my punishment, your little 'Tom' has forced me to become a Death Eater. I am now here on a mission to make Harry Potter's friends leave him, and kill Albus Dumbledore." If it was possible for a ghost, suddenly Myrtle seemed to lose quite a bit of color.

"But Harry… The headmaster… What happens if you don't?"

"What do you think happens?" he asked her, his voice continuing to get louder, until he was nearly shouting. He felt his eyes burning with tears, but he wasn't sure if it was because he was so mad or if just admitting everything had made him cry like a two year old. "I die. He'll kill me, and my entire family. If I fail-" he said, then broke off into something that would have been a sob if he wasn't a Malfoy. But Malfoys didn't sob. And they didn't cry. He was just…

He couldn't think of any excuses. He was falling apart like an old house and he knew it. The worst part was that Myrtle was watching him cry again. She'd get the wrong idea about Malfoys. She'd think he was a wimp. Even that oversensitive ghost would probably leave him because he was so soft.

But she didn't leave. She knelt down beside him and let her hand hover over his back.

"It's okay Draco," she said, and he couldn't even be mad at her for calling him by his first name. "You'll do it. I know you will."

"But I can't," he snapped. She backed up slightly in surprise, but once she realized that he wasn't mad at her, but just having an episode, she came back to his side. "I'm too weak to kill. I can't just off Dumbledore, and my family is going to die because of it."

"Can't you ask for help?" she tried softly.

"No one will help me!" he roared. "They hate me. Everyone hates me!"

"I don't," she whispered. He took a deep breath to try to keep himself calm, then looked straight at her with piercing eyes.

"You can't exactly help me either, can you?" She looked almost dejected.

"No, I can't."

"I'm sorry, okay Myrtle? I am. Maybe if I get some sleep or something… But… thanks, I guess." She smiled weakly.

"Maybe if you let someone get to know you," she said quietly. "They'd be able to help you." He snorted. Even if that would work, all that would do was give Voldemort someone else to kill after Draco failed.

"Yeah, thanks for the advice." Then he headed back to his room.

...

"Silence!" Snape bellowed the next Monday in DADA. Instantly the chatter stopped. "Now, I believe that we finished discussing the Cruciatus Curse, and it is time to move on to the second unforgivable curse. May anyone tell me what that would be?"

Granger's hand shot up into the air immediately, and Draco took the liberty of doing the same thing, jumping up and down in his seat exactly like Hermione did. The entire class laughed at that, except for Ron and Harry.

"Mr. Malfoy, since you are so enthusiastic to answer," Snape said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I believe that it is the Imperius curse," Draco said smoothly, in sharp contrast to his overenthusiastic hand-raising. Granger gave him a decent little dog glare the second Snape turned on his heel to terrorize the other part of the classroom.

"Very good. Now, I would like a three foot long essay on how to resist the curse. You may use your partner," the professor finished.

"You're a prat," she told Draco.

"For what? Being enthusiastic about answering a question? In that case, then you're a prat too." There was some internal kicking going on at that moment. He'd actually been trying to be mean to her, but everything he said seem to come across as a joke rather than an actual rude comment.

"You're a prat because you were mocking me," she clarified, a smile on her face. Her eyes were looking at him in a way that made his gut twist again. No hatred, or fear, or anger. Nothing that he was used to seeing. There was nothing but playfulness, and it made acting like he was supposed to so much harder than it should have been.

"If you weren't so damn overenthusiastic, then maybe I wouldn't have to mock you," he said with as much bitterness as he could. She just smiled again, then started writing her essay, and Draco started writing his, vowing not to talk to her the rest of the class. He was proud of himself when he didn't.

...

The next morning, Avada came swooping down onto his table again, an envelope tied to her leg. Keeping his face as smooth as stone, he untied it and opened the envelope.

_My Son, _

_I'm taking it that you have seen the papers. I'm not sure what to think, but I hope that the news doesn't interfere with your studies. I have just written to make sure that you aren't overreacting about the whole thing. I assure you that nothing bad can come from this development, and that your mission has not changed in the least. _

_Your Loving Mother_

Draco read the letter twice more, but he had no idea what she was talking about. He'd stopped getting the Daily Prophet because it pissed him off too much, but now that he thought about it, though, there was an unusual buzz surrounding the Great Hall. Actually, a lot of people were looking directly at him. His blood chilled as the possibilities ran through his head.

"Can I see that paper?" Draco asked a third year girl that was sitting across from him. Once she saw who it was, the paper was thrust into his hands without so much as a word of protest.

Draco knew what was wrong the second he saw the front cover. A blazing headline stretched across the front page, reading LUCIUS MALFOY ESCAPES AZKABAN. His father's face smirked up at him, as if he were taunting Draco.

He slammed the paper on the table and stalked out of the Great Hall, letting the doors slam behind him, not caring if everyone noticed him leave.

His legs carried him forward, although he had no idea where he was going. He just went up staircase after staircase until he finally reached the secluded astronomy tower.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, he went over to the edge of the tower and peered down at the grounds below. The forbidden forest stretched outward to the limits of his vision. From his view it looked perfectly harmless, as if it held no dangers at all. Nestled right up against the trees was Hagrid's cozy little shack. He could actually see the oaf bumbling around in front of it, feeding something to Witherwings, a hippogriff that looked suspiciously like the one that had attacked Draco in his third year. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, its light just seeping over the grounds.

Lucius Malfoy was out of prison. Just the thought made Draco sick. He hated his father, hated him. He'd been abused and neglected his whole life because of his father's stupid ambition to have him become a Death Eater. It was his fault that, at that moment, he was one of the Dark Lord's followers. It was his fault that he had to kill Dumbledore.

Part of him, a very small part, wondered if now that he was out, Voldemort would put him in charge of killing Dumbledore, but he also knew that wouldn't happen. To Lucius, it wouldn't be punishment to murder someone. He'd done it dozens of times before. Watching his son struggle, and then fail, would be a worse punishment.

"Are you okay?"

Draco couldn't help but jump when he heard her. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't heard anyone come up behind him.

"Go away, Granger," he spat, not needing to turn around to see who it was. He recognized the voice. Besides, who else would chase him?

Hermione ignored him.

"You helped me when I needed it, and now you need help."

"You know what'd help me?" he asked bitterly.

"What?"

"If you'd jump off this stupid tower."

"I saw the papers," she said, choosing to ignore his last comment.

"Great. So you came up here to make sure I wasn't having a father-son reunion?"

"I came up here because you looked upset when you read about your father." Draco turned around then, and looked down at the girl standing in front of him.

"Why?" he asked her. "Why would you _care_?"

"I told you," she said, her brown eyes completely earnest, "this is to make up for you saving my life."

"I didn't save your life, Granger," he spat. "Myrtle came and got me, and all that I did was not ignore her. Really, I basically sat in your blood and watched you bleed to death. I didn't do anything."

"Malfoy," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "You did everything."

His heart seemed to leap into his throat then, and his thoughts twisted into a horrible jumble that made him feel light headed. Those words, those beautiful words, paired with her gentle eyes… he shook his head furiously, refusing to let himself feel anything but annoyance.

"No, I didn't," he insisted.

"I- I was going to give up," Hermione whispered, having trouble getting the words out. "Then you came and sort of challenged me to stay alive, and, well…" She smiled softly. "I couldn't say no to a challenge, not from you anyway."

That was unexpected, and for once he wasn't fast enough to cover up his emotions. She didn't show any reaction, but he knew that his surprise had to have shown. He had actually thought that she would have been fine without him, that Myrtle could have just gotten a teacher. But if what she was saying was true, and he could tell that it was… he shook his head again. She had no right to do this to him.

"So what? That doesn't mean you have to chase after me whenever I look upset. Actually, here's a better idea. Why don't you just count that night as making up for the last five years? That way we're even." His voice was too gentle, and it made him hate himself. Did she have him under a spell? He was a monster, a Death Eater. He was not supposed to be acting like this. Not towards a Mudblood.

"Malfoy, that's not the point."

"So then what is?"

"You look horrible, and I- I just wanted to know if you were okay." She looked scared, like she thought he was going to strangle her for saying that. A tiny, extremely stupid, part of Draco wanted to walk over to her and tell her that he wouldn't hurt her, to thank her for her help and tell her everything. Of course, he didn't listen to it.

"I don't need a Mudblood to be nice to me." She threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

"If you keep acting like you don't need anyone, it's going to catch up to you, and you're going to be the one jumping off the astronomy tower."

"That's not a bad idea," he muttered. She jumped on that.

"See? You are so screwed up. I don't know what's wrong with you, but it isn't healthy. You need help." Her unreasonable concern made him even angrier.

"I don't need anything, much less you, Granger," he spat. "So why don't you just get out." She turned to go, and Draco felt the soaring feeling that her words had given him fade. Then, he realized that he didn't want it to fade. He wanted it there. And that meant keeping her with him.

"When I was younger, I'd look up to him, like he was a God, almost," he said. She stopped, but didn't turn around. "When he sent me to Hogwarts my first year, he said that he was sure I'd make him proud. Then he saw my scores, and he saw yours."

Hermione turned around then, her face a careful mask.

"I was supposed to be on top," he continued, his voice no more than a whisper. He didn't want her to know this, but the words wouldn't stop flowing. "But you beat me. A Mudblood beat me in every single class. My father was furious… You've been wondering if I'd ever felt the Cruciatus curse before." He stopped and took a deep breath, training his eyes on the ground. "That was the first time. Do you know how much I hated you for that?" he asked, forcing himself to look up. "I was so sure that you were the one who'd made my father hate me. Now, I guess I realize that my father really was, always has been, a psychopathic creep."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know-" she started, but Draco shook his head.

"I don't want your apologies, Mudblood." He took a very shaky breath. "That was stupid, okay? And if you ever mention it to anyone, I will hurt you." Then he swept out of there, leaving as quickly as he could. He told himself it was because he was going to be late for potions, but really, he just wanted to make sure that he wasn't going to blurt out anything else that no one, absolutely no one, should know.

Granger didn't leave his mind once that entire day. She treated him like a human being, not a monster. She chased after him when he left the Great Hall, and that made him feel better than he had in a very long time. Even better than that, she'd listened. She'd been there when he needed her.

But she was a Mudblood. She shouldn't be wheedling information about his past out of him. She shouldn't be making him want to accept those friendship offers she seemed to be throwing his way, and she sure as hell shouldn't be haunting his thoughts with those stupid brown eyes. But she did. That entire day, all he could think about was her, and the way that she whispered "You did everything", and every time he thought of it, this stupid warm feeling started spreading through his chest that made him horribly disgusted with himself.

That disgust reached an all time high when he walked into DADA and she smiled up at him. There was that warm feeling again, and he felt his lips wanting to smile back, but he made sure to keep his scowl plastered on his face. When she saw that, her actual smile faded, but her eyes were still looking at him happily. He slammed his fist down on the desk, causing everyone in the classroom to stare. "Would you just stop that?" he hissed at her.

"I didn't do anything," she argued, amusement coloring her eyes. Draco knew that she hadn't, but he was being illogical.

"Just stop, okay? You're driving me nuts." She looked at him like he already was nuts.

"Okay?"

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, I'm the crazy one," she said. Then, realizing that he did sound completely mad, he shut his mouth and looked away. He could still feel her smiling.

...

After that day, he tried to completely ignore her. Whenever she'd speak to him, he'd give her short, clipped answers, making sure to never look at her face, not even for a second, because he knew that even a glimpse of her eyes would make him lose it.

But just because he never let himself see those eyes in person didn't mean that he never saw them. They haunted him endlessly, appearing in his mind all the time, exactly the way they'd looked when she'd talked to him on the astronomy tower, when she'd told him that he'd done everything, that he'd saved her life. Then he'd smile to himself, no longer feeling the shock of her words. Instead he realized just what they meant, and it made him feel really and truly good every single time that he thought it.

Then, of course, he'd realized what he was doing and slam his head into the wall as if he were a house elf. She was a stupid git. He hated her. She was a Mudblood (he couldn't get himself to care too much about that. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how stupid the prejudice was). She was a know-it-all. For crying out loud, she was Weasley's girlfriend!

Besides, she hated him like the rest of them did. She acted nice because he'd forced himself to drag his butt out of bed one night and ended up saving her life. Or if it wasn't because of that, it was because she pitied him, or because she was nice to everyone, which she was. But if she knew how much it meant to her that she'd come after him, that she was nice to him, that she seemed to almost think of him as more than a piece of dog crap, then he knew that she'd laugh at him. She'd laugh long and hard at him for being such an idiot.

It wasn't like he wanted anything from her, anyway. He was a Death Eater. Getting buddy-buddy with Myrtle was one thing. She was dead. But Draco knew that it was entirely different with Granger. Not only was she a living, breathing, Mudblood, but he was also planning on breaking her heart to get her little trio of friends to break up. So any association at all was a horrible idea, and he told himself that constantly over the next weeks.

But the thought of her coming after him, trying to help him, listening to him, just didn't leave him alone. He even told Myrtle about it the Saturday after it had happened, even going into more detail about what he was doing to get her away from Potter.

"So, obviously I'm just being completely mental. I'm used to attention, and now I'm not getting it, so when one stupid girl chases after me, I overreact. Right?" he asked the ghost after he was finished.

"She's being nice to you," Myrtle said slowly, as if afraid of offending her only friend. "And it doesn't sound like many people are."

"She talks about me behind my back. She laughs when her friends make jokes about me. She glares at me." But she'd stopped the glaring, and from the last couple times he'd been spying on their little trio, he figured out that she was no longer taking part in any conversations about him. Whenever Ron or Harry would mention him, she'd look away, or chastise them for being jerks.

"She doesn't seem like the type-"

"They're all the type," he insisted. "It's part of human nature. Every student in this school is stupid and shallow."

"Nothing you've said about her has made her sound stupid, or shallow."

"But she is. Everyone is. They look nice, they look like good people, but if you let your guard down, they'll eat you alive." He was getting frustrated with himself, and it took quite a bit of willpower to not yell.

"Maybe if you gave her a chance-" Myrtle suggested.

"This is stupid," he snapped, before turning and promptly leaving the bathroom.


	9. Chapter 9

After that, Draco's attitude fluctuated horribly. On some days, he'd let himself treat Hermione a fraction of what he knew she deserved, and like the stupid half of his brain wanted to.

On days like that, he wouldn't do anything nice, but he wouldn't be his normal Draco self either. He'd help with her work. He'd joke around. There were no smiles or laughs from him, but every once in a while, she'd let her lips curve up just slightly, or allow a giggle to escape, and her eyes would brighten in a way that made his heart soar.

But whenever Draco forgot himself and wasn't as mean to her as he should've been, he always worked to ignore her the next day. He wasn't venomous like he used to be, and he'd still talk to her, but he made sure to act icy and distant just to make sure that there were no misunderstandings about his opinion of her.

That cycle continued for several weeks, until the first Saturday of November. He'd already told Myrtle he wasn't going to come that day, because it was the date of the first Quidditch match of the year, and the one that was always the most anticipated. Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Draco's team wasn't exactly the fiercest Slytherin had ever had, and he hadn't exactly been practicing them like he should have. The team had been meeting once a week, and every other Sunday, and they never did much. Draco, who'd gotten into the habit of letting a snitch loose and flying after it whenever he was bored, was probably the only one on the team that was ready for the match. The rest of them had their skills down pat, and of course, they had the desire to win, but Draco hadn't taught them a single strategy, and they were more or less planning to wing it.

Draco sat in the Slytherin locker room, his top-notch broomstick clutched tightly in his hands, and his thoughts everywhere but on the match. He loved Quidditch, he always had, but the events from the previous summer had made it a lot less important in his eyes. Now, with his two tasks to carry out, and the halfway point in the year approaching so quickly, as well as the way his brain was fumbling around with Granger, he was not ready to play.

It showed, too, the second that the match started. He kicked off, and like always, soared high above the pitch to find the snitch, but his eyes were glazed over, and he found himself wondering if he'd be dead for the first Quidditch game the next year, and was almost positive of it, because he'd more or less given up on the whole killing Dumbledore thing. He gave Hogwarts castle a quick look, imagining what the students would do if he wasn't there, then shuddering when he thought of how happy every single one of them would be. Then, he started riding his broom leisurely around the sky, checking for the snitch every once in a while.

The other players zipped around below him, Harry searching furiously for the little gold ball, as opposed to Draco's half-hearted glances around the pitch. He heard Looney Lovegood announce the score several times, but he quit listening after Gryffindor had gotten up by eighty.

"Malfoy, the snitch," Carrow shouted at him. He looked towards her, then managed to catch a glimpse of the snitch floating not ten feet away from him. In his hurry to catch it, he happened to ignore Potter, who was barreling towards it too. Draco extended his arm to catch it, enjoying the benefit of longer arms than Potter, and his fingers closed around the snitch just as the other seeker rammed into him, and both of them were sent spiraling to the ground, over a hundred feet below. Draco didn't care, however, as the collision had rattled his brain, causing the edges of his vision to go black.

Thankfully, Carrow caught him at the last second, and landed him gently on the ground just as he was losing sense of everything.

Then, a panicked thought ran through his head, and right as he was blacking out, he firmly kept his grip on consciousness. If he blacked out, he'd be taken to the hospital wing, where, no doubt they would change him out of his Quidditch robes if he lost consciousness. Then, they would see his arm.

"I got the snitch," he muttered to Hestia, holding it out in his hand. When the Slytherin's saw it, they started cheering, while the rest of the houses booed. As an afterthought, Draco dazedly looked around him, and saw Harry being supported by Ginny Weasley, who must have caught him.

_Crap, _he thought, _my life would be so much easier if he'd just died in the fall. _

Then another thought ran through his head, about how that would hurt Granger, and then she would blame him, and her eyes would never smile at him again. So really, he was glad that Potter hadn't died.

"Wow, I'm stupid," he muttered.

"What?" Carrow asked.

"Nothing. I just hit my head harder than I thought," said Draco bitterly. She didn't seem to care. In fact, she addressed him rather coldly.

"Just sleep it off." Then she walked over to where the rest of the team was, leaving Draco dazed and not completely aware of what he was doing. He ended up just stumbling out of the pitch and blindly making his way into the school and down to the dungeons before he collapsed on his bed. Then, actually listening to Hestia Carrow, he fell asleep.

...

The next day at Quidditch practice, he had a killer headache and his stomach had been churning unpleasantly the entire morning. He told all of his teammates to report to the center of the pitch, and proceeded to lecture them in a very Draconian matter.

"So," he concluded, after telling them everything that they did wrong. "Carrow was competent enough to point out the snitch and catch me after Scarface slammed into me, so she is free to go. I caught the snitch, so I am exempt from this crap, but the rest of you were pathetic. So, just stay, and practice not sucking. If I hear that you skip out as soon as I'm gone, my father will get word of it."

Then he left the Slytherins to practice before hurrying to the second floor girl's restroom to talk to Myrtle again, most likely about Granger, because that had become a habit of his. Only, to his shock, Myrtle met him before he entered the room.

"I tried to get them out," she said. "But they won't leave."

"Who?" Draco asked tiredly. He was annoyed that someone was in his bathroom, but it was the middle of the day, and there was no doubt that much of the school knew that no one ever used it. He'd just have to kick them out.

"Ronald Weasley and…," the girl said, then she paused dramatically before finished, "Hermione Granger." Suddenly, Draco's headache reached the point where he wondered if someone wasn't hammering a nail into his skull.

"And what," he asked through gritted teeth, "are they doing?"

"Well," Myrtle said nervously, twiddling her chubby fingers. "They started out talking. Apparently Harry was hurt really badly in that match, and she was crying. I guess that people weren't leaving them alone, so they came here."

"And now?" he asked.

"I don't like that Weasley boy, he's always been so mean to me. And you won't believe what he just said to me, he said, 'get back in your toilet and stay there', yes, he did. So, if you kill him, and he ends up haunting my bathroom, I will be very angry-"

"Myrtle," he said shortly.

"They're snogging," she said, then, in that voice that all girls use to impart gossip. Draco, despite having seen this before, couldn't help but feel something, something he couldn't identify, winding through his heart like a tiny little snake. His stomach, which had been uneasy all morning, suddenly felt dangerously weak. In that moment, he very much wanted to hex Ron Weasley.

"So?" he said, trying to stay reasonable. "I got them together. I knew that they'd be snogging. It's annoying that they're using _your _bathroom, but it doesn't affect me in any way. It'll stop in another five weeks or so, anyway, after Weasley finds himself in love with someone else."

"Can you make them stop?" Myrtle pleaded. "It's quite disturbing."

Draco's famous smirk spread across his face. At least he wasn't the only one that found there was something horribly wrong with Ron's kissing technique. Well, and with Granger snogging someone. That just wasn't right. She was books and intelligence, beautiful eyes and sweet smiles. None of that translated into locking lips with Ron Weasley in a girl's lavatory. Even just thinking about that made the snake in his chest grow.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure that they stop," he said, then pushed the door open. When he walked in, they'd apparently already heard him coming, because they were scurrying apart pretty darn quickly. When he looked at Weasley, he saw that his red hair was messed up and tousled, and the bush growing out of Granger's scalp appeared to have been run through by a rabid squirrel. Her lips were slightly swollen, and once again, her cheeks were unmistakably red. Draco had to take a shaky breath to prevent himself from killing Weasley right there.

"Are you stalking us?" Ron snapped when Draco walked into view.

"I was returning to the dungeons after Quidditch practice, when a poor ghost informed me that Weasley and his whore were getting to know each other a little better in her bathroom."

"What did you call her?" shouted Ron, fumbling for his wand. Hermione's eyes hardened in pure anger for the first time that year. Suddenly, he felt like he was going to drop dead right there. His headache had gone from a nail to a jackhammer, his stomach threatened to treat them to the delightful sight of his half digested breakfast, and fresh guilt decided to keep that snake in his chest company.

"I said," Draco spat, doing everything in his power not to show how weak he was truly feeling. "That Granger was- was-" He couldn't repeat it. The first time, the words had tumbled from his lips in his anger. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't bring himself to repeat the words. "I didn't mean that," he amended weakly, trying to keep his face impassive. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd clear out of here. Myrtle doesn't like you, Weasley, and I don't want her to be blind as well as dead."

"What do you care?" Ron snapped at him. Draco took a step forward.

"I'm a prefect. It's part of my job to make sure that my fellow students don't terrorize the ghosts of the school, and after seeing you _try _to kiss Granger last time, I'd say putting up with the sight for very long would be considered 'terrorizing'." Then he looked at Hermione, who still appeared as though she were trying to get him to keel over just by looking at him. "I don't know how you can stand him."

Draco turned to the ghost who was hovering behind him, a very smug look on her face.

"If they don't leave, come and get me, and I'll make sure that Snape does get them out."

"Thank you Draco," she said sweetly, smiling at the Slytherin as he hurried away.

When Draco was back in the hallway, everything felt so much better. His headache dulled again, and his stomach settled. Even just the sight of those two together made him so horribly sick. It was disgusting, just not right. Granger was too smart for such a thick dimwit. And how could someone so innocent let themselves be manhandled like that? It was bloody disgusting.

He didn't blame Granger. With Draco's help, Weasley had become disgustingly romantic. No, he put everything on the redhead's shoulders, internally cursing him and calling every name he could think of. Granger deserved so much better, and Draco felt truly bad for baiting her to stoop that low. He felt even worse for calling her Weasley's whore, which was so inaccurate, because she was just too sweet and innocent to be called anything like that.

He even felt bad for humiliating her like he so obviously did. He should have just told Myrtle to hide in her toilet or something. It would have been better than doing that to Granger, who out of pity or personality or some other shallow reason, was nice to him. At that moment, as he was lying in his bed and looking up at the smooth emerald ceiling, he realized that he didn't care why she was nice. She was, and that put her just a tiny bit ahead of the rest of the school. So he vowed to apologize. Apologize and nothing more. Because she deserved it, after listening to him, after helping him, and following him. Well, and because that angry look she'd given him the night before just about killed him, and he'd go to extreme measures to erase it from his mind. Even apologizing. Which Malfoys never, ever did.

...

The next day in DADA, Draco got there early to make sure that he'd have time to tell her what he had to say. For once, luck was on his side, and she walked in just seconds after he did.

"Granger," he said, acknowledging her curtly. She didn't even look at him. "Wow, did I finally manage to make Saint Granger mad?" he asked, working as hard as he could to sound like a total jackass when he said it. Just because he was going to apologize didn't mean that he had to do it nicely. He couldn't have her thinking that he actually cared that he hurt her. Which he didn't. At all. He was just being fair.

"Yes, you did," she spat at him. "Would you like an award?" Draco sighed. Who was he kidding? He couldn't stand it when she was actually mad at him, and he couldn't stand thinking of the reason that she was so mad.

"I don't like pissing you off," Draco told her slowly.

"Of course you don't. You just do it accidentally," Hermione spat sarcastically.

"I didn't mean to say that, okay Granger? Sometimes things just come out of my mouth, even if they aren't true. I admit it. I was _wrong_. I messed up. You aren't a whore. You're a sickeningly good person, and I was just disgusted because really, when Weasley kisses you, it looks more like he's eating you."

Her jaw hit the floor, and her eyes were about the size of Draco's fist. She even opened her mouth to argue, but nothing could come out. Finally, she took a deep breath to compose herself.

"Did you just apologize?" He tried to sneer at her, but it wasn't exactly convincing.

"You're supposed to be the super genius."

"I- I- Why do you even care?" _Because, I must have been poisoned sometime this year, and now I feel sick whenever I hurt you. _

"I don't. I just wanted you to know that you aren't a whore."

"Just tell me," she said. Draco, who'd been so worried about the whole apologizing thing, forgot not to let himself see those eyes, and he saw how they'd softened since his apology, and he couldn't help but tell her. Well, not tell her exactly, but he didn't tell her to sod off like he'd wanted to.

"You aren't a stupid, unfeeling arse like the rest of this school is," he said. "And because of that, I have decided that you deserve more respect than they do, and calling you a whore was not respectful."

Again, there was that shock, joined by a smug happiness that both annoyed Draco and made his heart start beating a little more quickly.

"Don't look like you won something," he growled. She shot him an innocent look.

"I would never."

"Silence!" bellowed Snape. Looking around, Draco noticed that the classroom was now full. When he glanced over at Weasley and Potter's table, he noticed that they were looking at him as though they'd enjoying cutting him open and feeding his entrails to their owls. That made him feel slightly better. Just because he'd gone mental and couldn't get himself to hate Granger didn't mean that he had lost his touch with everyone else.

In fact, his anger towards Weasley seemed to have grown.

He had no idea why, of course. It just had.

...

As the next weeks progressed, Draco and Hermione didn't start getting along so much as they gained the ability to have civil conversations. Almost every day, they got to Snape's classroom ten minutes early. From there, the first two minutes would be spent in awkward silence, before one of them broke it with an even more awkward statement. Like a week after Draco had apologized, they'd been sitting there, looking everywhere except at each other, when Hermione had opened her mouth and very quietly wondered, "Why does Myrtle always ask you for help?"

"None of your business, Mudblood," was his reply. She was silent for a second, then continued pestering him as if he hadn't snapped at her. She'd started ignoring the way that he almost constantly called her Mudblood, probably because she'd seen how little meaning Draco put behind it. Since the night he'd rescued her, he'd started caring less and less about that, until sometime Muggleborns blended in with the other witches and wizards.

"She called you Draco," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, it's somewhat derogatory, in my opinion, but if I told her that, she'd probably flood her bathroom." She'd never had an episode in front of Draco, and somehow he doubted that she'd have one if he told her not to use his first name, but for some reason he just couldn't imagine the pudgy little ghost calling him Malfoy. It was one of those things that didn't work. It was like Granger cussing, or Snape in a tutu. It would never happen.

"If she knows your name, and she gets you whenever she needs help, you must know her."

"Why would I associate with the ghost of a Muggleborn when I don't even associate with ones that are alive?"

"You didn't say Mudblood," she commented.

"That term," Draco told her with a smirk, "is reserved especially for you." Hermione snorted.

"Oh, thanks a lot."

"Don't mention it," said Draco back, daring to hope that she'd forgotten about the Myrtle thing. Of course, she hadn't.

"So, how do you know Myrtle?"

"She helped me once," Draco said coldly, making sure to keep his face in its usual apathetic mask, "and now she follows me around. She annoys the hell out of me, but I don't want the bathroom to flood."

Granger bit her lip, as if she were trying to figure out a difficult problem. She'd never done that before. Usually, their conversations were so stiff that no one made a single gesture without thinking it through first. Apparently, she was relaxing. That pleased Draco because, well, it was nice for someone to treat him like he wasn't going to lose his mind and kill them at any moment. It also scared him because she wasn't supposed to be relaxing around him. He was a Death Eater, she was a Muggle-born. She should have been terrified.

But the only terrified one in that situation was Draco, because when he'd seen her bite her lip like that, this insane, rabid thought flew through his head that she was really cute when she did that. That little thought scared the hell out of him. As punishment, he went over his plans in his head while she was thinking.

He spent a lot of time on the part where he was going to make Weasley cheat on her, and how she was going to be heart-broken. Before, he'd thought it was genius. Now, the thought made him sick. It was a very, very good punishment for him.

"You're lying to me," Hermione finally said, just as the classroom was filling up. "I think that you actually like Myrtle, otherwise you'd tell her to bug off and she wouldn't talk to you." Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Snape had already started class. Instead, he sent her a glare. And she smiled at him.

That was basically the way that most of their conversations went. Bickering, maybe some name calling, and lazy insults. Well, and then Draco constantly having to remind himself not to think horrible, forbidden things, like that her hair actually looked really soft, or how smooth her skin was, or the way her eyes would sparkle whenever she smiled.

It got to the point where he was constantly surrounded by dread. He told Myrtle that he'd gotten somewhat attached to the stupid Gryffindor, and the ghost just smiled sadly.

"You could always think of something else to keep her and Ronald away from Harry," she said.

"I have to get her away from Weasley anyway," Draco growled. "Seeing them together is disgusting."

So he continued on with the plan. It was actually nearly perfect, the more he thought about it. Already, Harry was spending more time with Ginny Weasley than either Ron or Hermione, which meant that they were growing more distant. In addition, he couldn't help but take joy in the knowledge that Ron would be devastated. He truly did hate the red haired boy, and since their confrontation in the bathroom, he'd been going out of his way to make him angry.

Several times, Granger had commented on that, but Draco just said that she had the ability to treat him like a human being, whereas Potter and Weasley tended to enjoy making him as angry as possible, by doing things such as calling him names, getting him in trouble, or in one case, throwing dung bombs at him. Granger grudgingly conceded to his point.

Taking that into account, the part of the plan where Ron would turn into a sniveling wreck wasn't that bad. He was just scared senseless about what he'd do when he hurt Granger. She was head over heels for the stupid Weasley, and he knew that when she caught him with his tongue in Lavender Brown's mouth, she was going to fall apart. Draco laid awake night after night, thinking about that, wondering if hurting such a good person was worth it.

Then, one night, he realized that it wasn't. He didn't want to hurt Hermione. He couldn't.

He let his head flood with thoughts of her snogging Weasley.

That's what convinced him to do it. Not the thought of imminent death if the trio was still friends by the end of the year. Oh no, of course it wasn't that. Instead, it was remembering her and the Weasel together, and how wrong it was in the first place. He was just putting the world back where it should be. If it wasn't for him, they may not have gotten together, so he was just erasing what he'd done.

...

The last day before break, Slughorn was having a Christmas party which all of his Slug Club was invited to, and they could each bring a date. Draco had never gotten the invite, seeing as his influential father was now seen as an influential Death Eater, but he didn't want it anyway. He was going to be busy putting the first step of his plan into place.

He hid outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, waiting for Ron Weasley to return to Gryffindor tower. Even though it took a half hour, Draco never moved, and he was still ready when the boy rounded the corner, smiling himself stupid. He was alone, which made Draco's job much simpler.

"Imperio," he hissed, waving his wand at Weasley. During their lessons that summer, his aunt Bellatrix had consistently told him that to perform an unforgivable curse, he had to mean it. At that moment, with thoughts of Weasley and Granger in his head, he more than meant it.

Feeling the control that flooded through his body, he mentally gave Weasley his orders.

"_Take Granger to the party, then find Potter as soon as possible and tell him you're heading back to your dorm because you're sick. Sneak away from Granger, and head directly back to the Gryffindor Commons Room, where you will confess your love to Lavender Brown. Tell her that you're through with Granger, and give her a snog to remember." _

Then Ron Weasley, looking just as he always did, nodded at where Draco was standing invisibly. Draco smiled sadly, then walked away. He was sure that once Granger heard Ron had left, she'd follow him. Hopefully, she wouldn't buy any excuses. Why would she? Draco had decided on the Imperius curse simply because so few, if any, students at the school knew how to cast it. If it would have been a love potion, the effects would've been too obvious. But Draco's modified method was, if not darker, more quick than his original would have been.

Draco retreated to the dungeons after cursing Weasley and didn't bother returning to the surface that entire night. He knew that he should watch to make sure his plan worked, but he didn't have the heart too. The second that he'd started walking away from Weasley, he'd gotten that strange sick feeling again, and the part of his head that always paid attention to things like Hermione's eyes and how sweet she was, started beating him up quite badly, begging and pleading with him to stop Ron so that he didn't hurt her.

Then the other part, the part he'd been trying harder and harder to listen to, kept reminding him of his mother, and what would happen if he didn't accomplish his tasks. He already knew the Dumbledore one was more or less hopeless, but maybe if he successfully destroyed the Three Musketeers, that would be enough.

Or at least he hoped so.


	10. Chapter 10

That entire night, Draco thought about what he'd done and worried that Granger was going to find out and hate him forever, which shouldn't have scared him like it did. It did, though, and that irrational fear crept through his veins and didn't let him sleep a single wink that night.

The next morning, thankfully, brought along the first day of break. Nearly everyone was leaving, including the Three Musketeers, which meant that Draco would more or less have the run of the place. Even better, he didn't have to worry about running into Granger and dying of guilt.

That first day, he didn't bother getting up until after noon, and once he finally did get his butt out of bed, he only strolled out to the now snowy gardens, a thick emerald cloak wrapped around his shoulders. From where he sat, he could just catch a glimpse of the icy lake peeking out from behind the castle. The sun glistened off of the frozen water, winking up at him.

He sighed. Everything was unnaturally beautiful. The lake, the sparkling snow that blanketed the ground, even the weather was nice for that time of the year. Normally, being wide out in the open with no one around and nothing to worry about helped him relax. That day, it wasn't working. He felt as though he were back at Hogwarts on the first day of school, when everyone was pushing and shoving. He could feel his claustrophobia sinking in once again, although he was so perfectly alone.

Now it wasn't people smothering him. It was feelings and fears, thoughts and regrets.

He was latching onto Hermione Granger because of her _thereness. _From the night that he'd saved her, she'd always been there for him, whether he pushed her away or not. Even if they didn't speak, he could feel that if he opened up to her, she'd at least attempt to listen. That made him feel something.

Whatever that something was scared him because he knew that it wasn't a bad something. Any feeling towards a Mudblood other than hate was unacceptable. No longer because of his personal beliefs, but because of his will to keep himself and his family, his mother at least, alive.

Then there were his thoughts. He thought of Dumbledore, of how he hadn't made a single move to get rid of the old wizard. He thought of his family. There was his gentle mother, who he worried for. The rest of them, whom he all loathed. His father was no doubt continuing with the work of the Dark Lord, and his aunt had always had an unnatural joy for doing Voldemort's bidding.

He thought about other things, too. Good things, things that made his heart lighten up just slightly. Like Granger's eyes, and her beautiful smiles, and the way that her laughs sounded like sleigh bells.

That got him going on his regrets. He had many. If he thought about every single one of them, he would probably have to be taken to Saint Mungo's. But most of them, he couldn't even remember. Like a true Malfoy, whenever he'd felt that slight tinge that made him feel as though he'd made a mistake, he threw whatever he'd done into the back of his mind and locked it away, never to be seen again. So, at first glance, his mind held only one real regret, and it seemed to stand in the center of everything else, shiny and gold, so that he had to take notice of it, so he couldn't forget about it.

His stupid plan that _had _to entail breaking stupid Granger's stupid heart.

Draco grimaced at the thought and returned to the dungeons. Stray thoughts would surface for air as he walked, and he'd squish them down again, keeping his mind distant and blank. One by one, he took everything that had been in his head and shut it away, hoping that none of the regrets would ever come back.

For Draco, the majority of the rest of the holidays were spent digging around in the library, both on a last ditch effort to find something that would help him with Dumbledore, and also because he simply liked to be surrounded by books. He could look around and feel so many answers to different questions at his fingertips. He liked being smarter than people, he liked learning, and in his opinion, books were a better alternative than lessons from his darker family members.

When he wasn't burying his face in books, he'd head outside and walk through the snowy grounds. If that got too boring, he'd take out his broomstick and soar above the castle as fast as he could, letting the cold wind blow through his hair and imagining flying away into the mountains and never coming back.

That's what he was doing the night that she came back. It was almost six, and the sky was just growing dim. It was calm and clear, one of those nights where he could see forever. Draco flew for over an hour, his eyes looking wistfully over the distant mountains as he imagined life without the Dark Lord, or his psychotic family, or thoughts of Hermione Granger plaguing him every other minute.

Then, just as he was thinking about how mental it was to be thinking about her, he looked down and saw her, staring up at him, watching him carefully. At first he was surprised, but then he realized that students would be starting to come back to the school. There were only two days of break left.

_Just ride away... ignore her. _

"Nice view, huh?" he called down with a smirk, unable to help himself.

_Okay, that plan worked out well. _

"Well, I'm trying to see the sunset, but your oversized ego is in my way," she called back. He noticed that her voice wasn't as fiery as it was before. He could almost hear the emptiness in it, and was hit with a fresh stab of guilt. He very quickly told himself that she'd be better off without Weasley in the long run.

"Don't kid yourself, Granger," he said, steering his broom towards the ground. "You know that I'm a more beautiful sight than any sunset."

Her lips curved into a small smile, but when he landed in front of her, he could see that for once, it didn't reach her eyes.

"I haven't seen you this cocky all year. You actually sound like the old Malfoy. Been drinking too much over break?"

"It's the lack of annoying little first years," he clarified for her. "I've had time to clear my head."

"Oh joy. Now I supposed that you realize that you've been speaking to me, and decided to land out here so that you could tell me off."

He smirked at her, not bothering to deny that he liked the worry in her voice. Despite her trying to cast it off in annoyance, he could see that she didn't want him to push her away.

"Actually, Granger. Now that you mention it, I have been treating you a little bit too nicely lately," said Draco in the most menacing voice he could manage. She looked up and tried to look into his eyes, but he made sure not to betray any emotion.

"And?" she wondered cautiously. He couldn't help but notice the weariness in her eyes, as if she'd already gone through enough and anything that he had to say would simply be tiring.

"And I've decided that I should have gone to the hospital wing after my concussion during the last Quidditch match. The long term effects are scaring me."

Her eyes lit up, just slightly, but at least there was something there.

"So you aren't going to turn into what you were before?" she asked. Draco shrugged.

"I haven't been acting that differently. You've just gotten thick enough to start ignoring it." She seemed to think about that for a moment, biting her lip again, before finally answering. Draco was sure that he was staring at her, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. At least she seemed to think he was doing nothing but politely paying attention to the conversation.

"You've been trying to act the same," she told him finally. "But you're different."

"Why would you say that?" he asked curiously. He wasn't daft enough to believe that she didn't notice his changed attitude towards her, even if he did still make sure to load half hearted insults into every sentence. But it seemed like she meant more than that.

"Well, you're always by yourself, you look like you never get any sleep, and you snap at random people when they do nothing wrong."

"You're observant," he told her, not sure how to react to her accusations. He supposed they were true. He just didn't like talking about them. She couldn't know that he wasn't sleeping because of Death Eater nightmares, that he was by himself because he hated everyone else, or that he snapped at people because he was taking all of his frustrations out on them instead of himself.

"There's something wrong," she notified him. "You wouldn't be tolerating me any other way."

"Granger," he said, his voice starting to go softer. His words weren't exactly comforting, in a way they were actually demeaning, but to him, they meant something. "I tolerate you because you're all I have left."

She opened her mouth to deny it, but Draco could see that she knew what he said was exactly true. Sure, he had Myrtle, and he had his mother, but Myrtle was long dead, and his mother was too broken down and nervous to be much of anything to him. He'd chased away the rest of school. So that left Granger. Stupid Mudblood Granger.

"I have to go," he told her firmly. Then he left her standing there, most likely still trying to think of an appropriate response to what he said.

He swept through the corridors, hoping that his sudden exit would be enough of a hint for her not to bring up the conversation again.

...

On the last day of break, Draco found Hermione in the back of the library, crouched behind a shelf and nervously peeking out from the edge of it. He snuck up silently behind her.

"If you're hiding from Weasley, I just saw him leave," Draco notified her. She jumped half a mile in the air, and he curled his lips into a smirk.

"You scared me," she breathed.

"I noticed," he said, coolly turning to look at the books, as if he hadn't walked over there just because he saw her.

"So you heard that we broke up?" she asked Draco, straightening up out of her crouch. Draco mentally cringed. He didn't want to talk about her breakup with Weasley.

"I'd have to be living under a rock not to have heard," he said coldly, hoping that she'd get the hint and stop discussing it. He was also annoyed. He made one little comment about tolerating her, and all of the sudden he was her relationship psychologist? It was bloody irritating.

"I still can't believe he did it," she said furiously. "I trusted him, I- I thought I loved him."

Then she looked to an extremely horrified Draco, her cheeks tingeing pink in embarrassment. Of course, she probably thought that Draco was horrified because she was treating him like a friend, and the look in her eyes made it clear that she hadn't wanted to confide that in him. Draco, however, was no longer annoyed at her confiding in him. His ears were still ringing from her saying that she thought she loved Weasley.

She had _loved _Weasley. Loved. Like wanted to marry and have kids with him. With _him! _It just wasn't right. Thinking about it made him sick.

"You didn't love him," Draco told her, but really he was trying more or less to convince himself. She looked at him in surprise. She hadn't expected a civil response.

"How would you know that?" she asked sharply.

"It just isn't right," he said. "You and Weasley? That's disgusting." He could almost imagine her hackles raising, probably because he'd gotten the picture of a tiny little dog into his head. Actually, if it would have been a different situation, the look that she was giving him would have warranted an angry Pomeranian comment.

"I know that you think Ron and I are the two most insufferable people on the planet, but you'd say that it was disgusting if either of us was in a relationship with anyone."

"Granger," he told her, looking at her, but yet through her at the same time. He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze, not after what he'd done to her. "It's disgusting for Weasley to be with anyone, I'm not going to deny that. But that doesn't mean that I think the same thing about you, okay? I said what I did because, well-"

"You're a git?" she tried. He shot her a glare loaded with ice. Maybe he didn't hate her anymore, but it was just infuriating when he was trying to be nice, and she insisted on acting like, well, like the Hermione Granger from all of their previous years.

"I'm trying to be nice," he snapped at her. "Just trust me on this. Your relationship with Weasley didn't mean as much as you thought it did." As the words came out of his mouth, he could feel that they were true.

"Just go away," she mumbled. So he did. He wanted to say more, to get the miserable look off of her face, but he had remind himself that he needed her miserable. If she was convinced that she didn't love Ron, then she wouldn't retaliate by finding someone else, and she'd still be with Harry.

_But she's miserable. Help her. _

And he wanted to, with everything he had, he wanted to help her. He just couldn't, though. His life depended on it.

* * *

The day they returned to school, Draco was nervous about DADA. He didn't know where he stood with Hermione, and that bothered him. But he was also somewhat eager to restart the bickering and awkward conversations that they'd started having.

Unfortunately, both of them arrived at class to late to talk very much at all. They'd been held after in transfiguration to clean up after an incident involving a rabbit and a tea cup, and Draco had barely taken his quill out before Snape began talking about dementors again, due to a sharp rise in the number of attacks. Draco, who hadn't the slightest interest in repeating a subject they'd already covered, turned to look at Hermione. She was looking at Ron with tears in her eyes.

This did not make Draco happy. Actually, it made him both regretful and pissed off at the same time. But mostly pissed off because she really shouldn't be so torn apart over a stupid prat.

"That waste of human life cheated on you," Draco reminded her none too kindly. "So why are you checking him out?"

"I can't help it," she muttered. Draco smirked, giving Snape a quick glance to make sure he wasn't near the two of them.

"So you think he's a hunk?" he wondered. "I guess the pot belly is coming back into style." She gave him an incredulous look. "What? Does he have a six pack hidden under all those butt ugly sweaters he wears? I just figured he was fat because whenever I see him he's feeding his face. But enlighten me. I'm sure that you know the answer."

She was blushing bright red, looking at Draco like he was crazy.

"I- Ron- Did you just ask me about Ronald Weasley's stomach muscles?" Draco's eyes flashed with amusement.

"I'm not serious, Granger. That was supposed to make you laugh." Then, just a little bit too late, her face broke out into a dazzling smile. Sure, it still didn't go deep enough, but Draco couldn't help but congratulate himself.

"I would have," she assured him. "I just didn't think that you'd do something like that."

"Don't flatter yourself. This is because I enjoy laughing at Weasley. I'm not doing it for you." But he was.

He wanted her to really smile again as much as he wanted her to just get over the stupid boy. He thought of how she couldn't get over Weasley too early, because then she wouldn't feel the need for revenge, and his plan would fall apart. But that no longer mattered to him. He just wanted her to smile at him and hate Weasley, and not because of any stupid plan.

Then he noticed the redhead giving him a nasty glare, his eyes going to the smiling Hermione when he saw Draco catch him looking. He saw the unmistakable anger there. Weasley was mad at Draco for making Hermione laugh when he had supposedly made her cry. Granger was starting to trust him, and Draco was definitely doing a little more than simply tolerating her, no matter if he was willing to admit it or not.

So was there anything wrong with getting Granger on his side, with letting himself be nice to her- for the sake of the plan, of course- so that she'd start trusting him over her two friends? Just from looking at Weasley and Potter, he could see that the two weren't getting along at that moment. If he could get Hermione to come to him over Potter, and give Weasley a little help to ensure that he stayed away from his two friends, then everything would still work out.

Thinking of that made him relax. He could get her to quit sniveling over Weasley without compromising the plan. It was perfect.

"Great, so now _you're_ checking Ron out," Granger said. Draco jumped and look at her. Apparently she'd been trying to get his attention for a while.

"Since you're too slow to tell me what kind of gut he had, I was trying to see for myself," he told her. That time, she laughed. It was an actual laugh, not sad, not hollow, but _real_. Her chocolate colored eyes seemed to shine more, and her lips curved up into her usual sweet smile. _God, she's beautiful, _he thought unwillingly.

"Liking what you see?" she asked him, and he started to panic before he remembered that they were talking about Weasley. He quickly looked over at Ron so he had time to recompose his face.

"Nah, I think I'll stick with Goyle. He has a better body." She started laughing again, and it actually took effort for him not to start as well.

"Do you find something amusing, Ms. Granger?" Snape spat in her direction. Both her and Draco jumped. He'd kind of forgotten that they were having class. Usually, if Draco was involved, Snape would ignore whispering and quiet conversations. Up until then, they'd been fine. He'd just made her laugh too loud.

"My apologies, Professor," Draco said quickly. "It is my fault. I'm sure that you've heard the rumors about Granger and Weasley, and I was simply curious to whether they'd ever slept together." He shrugged innocently. "I guess that's her answer."

Draco easily pulled the whole thing off with a completely straight face, his eyes dead serious, which made the whole thing even more hilarious to the rest of the class, all of who burst into laughter. Well, other than Snape, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Hermione, because she was so embarrassed that she couldn't even look up. Harry because he hated Draco, and he probably wasn't comfortable hearing about his friends' sex lives. Ron for obvious reasons. And then Snape because, in addition to the inappropriate comment, had been seemingly born without a sense of humor.

"Mr. Malfoy. I should give you detention for that."

"You asked. I was only being honest," he said, giving him his best 'aren't I a sweet little Death Eater' look. He knew that intimidation didn't work with Snape. Sucking up, however, usually did. And it didn't fail him on that occasion.

"Save personal talk for time outside of class," he said. Then he turned to the rest of the classroom, who was still laughing.

"Silence!" he growled.

With that, their lesson continued.


	11. Chapter 11

Draco waited for her after class that day. As usual, it was their last of the day, and he had an entire night open in front of him. Telling himself that he needed Hermione to get close to him in order for his plan to work, he decided that they were going for a walk.

"Granger," Draco said, falling into step next to her as she started to walk off.

"Yeah?" Hermione asked absentmindedly, pausing in midstride without really turning to face him. She was probably expecting a quick homework question.

"I was just wondering if you'd care to go for a walk with me," said Draco nonchalantly, as if it was completely normal for him to ask a Mudblood to go on a random walk around the grounds.

Hermione's head jerked around.

"What?"

"You haven't gone deaf, have you Granger?" Draco asked cockily, even though he was actually rather worried. He didn't want her to say no for some reason, even though he hadn't quite figured out what that reason could be.

"But-"

"Yes or no."

"Uh, I don't know. Sure?"

Draco shook his head at her.

"There was no yes or no in that sentence."

"Oh, shut it Malfoy," Hermione tried to snap, but she was laughing again. "Yes, I will go."

Draco smiled and began ambling away from the classroom, and Hermione followed, walking close enough that he could feel her body heat, but just far enough away from each other that they weren't quite touching. Neither of them said anything as Draco led Hermione out of the school and onto the cool grounds, but when Hermione tried to head to the lake, Draco gently grabbed her elbow and steered her in the direction of the gardens.

"You still have Harry's invisibility cloak, don't you?" Hermione asked as they picked their way through the thick snow. Draco shrugged, even though he really didn't want to talk about it with her. There was no way he was going to give that thing back.

"So he told you I stole it?" he asked like he didn't care. To his surprise, instead of lecturing him, Hermione laughed. Draco looked at her in surprise, but Hermione didn't seem to see anything out of place with her reaction. Instead she continued walking forward with a bright smile on her face, her brown eyes lit up like she was enjoying herself, and her usually pale cheeks pink from the snow.

"I think everyone in Gryffindor tower heard him yelling about it. He hates you for that. It was his father's," Hermione explained, her tone only going serious towards the end. Draco probably should have felt guilty, but he didn't. Hermione and Myrtle both possessed the inane talent to make him feal guilty, but there was no way in hell that he'd ever feel anything of the sort towards Saint Potter.

"Well, he sent my father to prison. I'd say we're even," Draco said bitterly. They walked forward a little further.

"Did it really even bother you, your father getting sent to Azkaban? I thought that you didn't like him," said Hermione. She wasn't looking at him, but Draco could hear the concern in her voice. Unwarranted concern, of course. Draco snorted.

"I don't," he answered. He could feel her giving him another one of her questioning looks, and he knew that he should keep his eyes forward, but he looked at her anyway. As he'd expected, her breathtaking brown eyes made him want to spill everything. Instead, he looked away and said, "But my father's failure did more than get him sent to Azkaban."

"Wait," Granger said, furrowing her brow. "His failure?"

"That prophecy that you and your baby heroes went to retrieve. There was a reason he was there, and it sure as hell wasn't to watch you take it," said Draco, his eyes down. He was saying too much, being too honest, and he knew that Hermione would figure something out soon, but he couldn't bring himself to stop talking.

"For You-Know-Who?"

"Yes." Hermione wasn't daft, Draco had to admit that. He could basically see the gears in her mind working as she figured out exactly what that entailed.

"And Volde- You-know-who- wasn't happy about that?"

"Granger, are you that thick?" he asked her, actually laughing a little. He really doubted that there was a time when Voldemort _was _happy.

"I guess I can figure that out. But if he wasn't happy with your father, would that mean..." Hermione started.

"He's not happy with the rest of my family either," finished Draco.

"And you're being punished? That's why you were mad enough to steal the cloak."

"I hate Potter for other reasons, but at that moment, I was thinking of my current predicament," said Draco. He was starting to become almost suspicious, the way that she was getting him to talk. It didn't make sense that he'd so freely tell her these things that he had kept from everyone else.

"I helped with that battle, you know that, right?" she wondered. Draco smirked at her, shaking his head a little.

"It's harder to hate someone when they refuse to hate you back."

"I suppose," said Hermione. They went a few more feet in silence. Draco noticed her shiver. He resisted the impulse to ask if she wanted to use his cloak.

"Why _do _you refuse to hate me?" he asked to break the silence. He wasn't sure she'd even be able to answer that quesiton, that there was an actual reason for it at all. He couldn't think of very many reasons not to hate himself.

"Because, I could see that you weren't bad," said Hermione, like it was a fact and not a mistaken, terriblely misinformed opinion.

"I am," he told her firmly.

"I don't think-" Hermione started. Draco shook his head, his voice now filled with warning.

"You don't know the things that I've done," he informed her. Then she looked at him with those sweet brown eyes, and Draco felt his heart stop.

"I don't believe you," Hermione said.

Draco took a deep breath. He knew there were things that he couldn't tell her, but he had something that he could.

"Granger, at the start of the year, when I found out that Parkinson was cheating on me, I laid into her badly enough that she worried I was going to _kill_ her. Pansy Parkinson was huddled into a ball, balling her eyes out, begging for me to spare her life. And I didn't feel any guilt. Nothing. Actually, it almost made me feel good, to see how I could completely break someone down like that."

"She's paranoid," Hermione told him. "I doubt you were that bad. Besides, she hurt you."

"She didn't hurt me," Draco confessed. "I hated her. She was an annoying whore, and I was glad she'd broken up with me. I only did that to her because she'd taken advantage of a Malfoy."

Hermione fixed him with an unflinching look.

"Whatever you have done, you are not a bad person. I can feel it." Forcing his own eyes to stay hard and unreadable, Draco looked into hers. They were sincere and earnest. Already the sadness from the Weasel was gone, and Draco reassured himself with the fact that they'd never loved each other in the first place.

"Granger, I believe that you can look the Dark Lord in the eye and tell him that somehow, some way, he's a good person."

Suddenly, Hermione tore her eyes away from his.

"You called him the Dark Lord," she said softly. Draco felt his stomach give a little squeeze. How would she have caught that? No one else would have noticed.

"You do know who's in my family, don't you?" asked Draco, hiding behind biting sarcasm. He felt a little guilty when he saw her swallow at his shifting tone, but ignored her reaction for the most part, doing his best not to care. "It's a habit, Granger. I'm not one of his servants."

"Of course," Hermione said, her cheeks tinting pink, as though she were embarrassed for accusing him of supporting Voldemort.

After that, there was more walking, more silence.

"I have a potions essay to finish," she said finally, shattering the stiff quiet. Draco let out a sigh of almost relief. They headed back to the school without saying another word.

...

It was three days later when Professor Slughorn instructed his potions class to choose partners. They were supposed to brew amortentia, which would take two weeks or so to finish. It was an extremely advanced potion, and Slughorn said that because of its difficulty level, he would let them work together.

Hermione started to turn to Harry, but Draco rushed in grabbed her arm, sending a smirk in Potter's direction.

"I need a smart partner, Granger," Draco said, trying to ignore how warm her arm was and how he couldn't quite make himself let go. He shot Hermione a blinding smile. "And Zabini scares me, so...?"

Harry glared at Draco.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, obvioulsy not thrilled that someone as 'dangerous' as him would want to spend any time at all with Hermione. He'd been getting even more possessive lately, especially since he'd quite talking with Ron.

"In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been doing anything wrong for a very long time, Potter," Draco said smoothly.

"Yeah, not since you stole my father's cloak-" Harry started to mutter, but Draco cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"And you stole my father, so I'd say that we're even."

"You got your father back when he escaped," Harry snapped. The entire class was looking at them by that point, but neither of them noticed. Draco started to reach for his wand, but at that moment, Hermione decided to latch herself onto his arm with both of her own, grabbing it and holding it to her so that he probably couldn't have yanked it free if he tried.

Not that Draco wanted to get away. He could feel her heat, soaking into that arm and radiating throughout his entire body. Suddenly, Potter seemed like nothing more than a minor annoyance.

"Malfoy, please don't fight-" Hermione started.

"Don't worry, Granger, I won't," he said with a smirk. "Now let's go." Then Draco pulled her away. Harry and the rest of the class stared at them in shock, but Hermione didn't say anything about it for the rest of the class period, and neither did Draco.

...

That weekend Draco took her to see the thestrals.

"Have you seen someone die?" Draco asked as they entered the forest.

"Last year," Hermione said sadly. Then she looked at him. "I supposed you have."

Draco laughed humorlessly.

"More times than I would have liked," he sighed. They continued on in silence, walking far enough away from each other to ensure that not even their elbows brushed. That was Hermione, not Draco. Draco, since she'd kept him from hexing Potter, was having more trouble keeping his thoughts in places that they should have been. At that moment, with her arms swinging harmlessly by her sides, he was extremely tempted to grab one of her hands firmly in his own. But he knew Hermione would freak out. She would be disgusted. And he would be devastated.

"Are you sure they're here?" she asked after another half mile. Draco smiled.

"Almost."

Moments later, Hermione and Draco stepped through the trees and into the little clearing where the thestrals were sleeping, or kicking around snow, or eating tiny little forest animals.

"We're here," Draco smirked, even though it was kind of obvious. She smiled, taking a step forward and petting one on its nose.

"They're so gentle," she said.

"They are."

She continued to stroke the thestral, smiling softly and beautifully. At that moment, Draco had an idea.

"Do you want to fly one?" Draco asked offhandedly, like he didn't actually care whether or not she accepted his offer.

"What?" Hermione said. He nodded towards the winged horses.

"I'm getting bored around here. We should fly one."

"Are you sure? I don't know if that's-"

Hermione shut her mouth when Draco picked her up and threw her over the back of the thestral she'd been petting. The creature didn't seem to mind at all. Draco, once he'd gotten Hermione onto the creature's back, hopped on in front of her.

"Hold on tight," he warned. He could feel her stiffen nervously, looking back at her. "Granger? Did you hear me?" She was still looking at him as though he'd just told her to strip naked. He snorted. Then, with the usual Malfoy confidence, he reached back and took her hands, putting them on either side of his waist. As soon as he'd moved her hands for her, Hermione's grip tightened and Draco felt her nuzzle her face into his back. That warmth returned again, and his heart started beating so quickly that he was sure she could hear it.

"Ready?" Draco asked her, his voice still smooth despite the way that butterflies seemed to have invaded his stomach. He had no idea what was going on. Malfoys did not get butterflies.

"Yes," Hermione said. Draco could feel her warm breath on his neck, and there was no way he could have suppressed the shiver that went down his spine. There was no doubt that she felt it, because she seemed to scoot closer to him.

_I'm going to pureblood hell for this, _he thought, but he couldn't make himself care anymore. He coaxed the thestral into flight, and the winged horse slowly rose through a break in the trees, then took off as it got into the open air.

"This is amazing," Granger breathed as the cool air surrounded them.

"I suppose," Draco said with as much indifference as he could manage. Hermione only laughed, holding onto him even more tightly.

They flew until the sun started to set, and Draco gently coaxed the thestral to the ground.

"I don't want to go back yet," Hermione said when Draco helped her off it's back.

"We don't have to," Draco told her, not wanting to leave either. Not really thinking about it, he grabbed her elbow again and took her through the snow, back to the gardens. Instead of walking, he sat down on a narrow wooden bench, and after a moment's hesitation, she sat beside him.

At first, they didn't touch. Then Granger shivered, and Draco couldn't help himself. He moved closer and put his arm around her. From that close, he could smell her hair. Lavender, like always. She looked up at him with wary eyes. It was weird, that she could go and bury her face in his back and everything was fine, but he couldn't keep her warm without raising suspicion.

"What are you doing?" she wondered nervously.

"Sharing body heat," Draco said sharply, like his heart wasn't thudding against his ribcage or like he didn't find any significance in this at all. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Um-" Hermione hesitated.

"You're supposed to say no," Draco supplied quickly, hoping that she wasn't going to pull away.

She didn't.

"I was getting around to it," Hermione laughed, snuggling closer. Draco chuckled into her hair, and that time he felt _her_ shiver.

"Cold?" Draco asked, even though he knew that wasn't it. He also knew the effect that he'd had on girls in the past, and he wasn't going to let himself hope that any of this meant anything at all.

"A little," Hermione said too quickly. Her cheeks were flaming red.

"Well, then I suppose I'm not doing my job well enough," he murmured, pulling her a little closer. He thought about what his father would think, about what Voldemort himself would do if he found out about this. But Draco had his foolproof excuse. No, not an excuse. He had a good, solid reason. This was all part of his plan. He had to get her to trust him for the stupid plan.

Except with her so close and smelling so good, Draco knew it wasn't true. His genius idea was nothing but an excuse to get close to her without getting in trouble with the Dark Lord.

Thinking about that, realizing that he _did _have a foolproof excuse, Draco let himself grab her hand.

"Malfoy," Hermione complained. Draco sighed, smiling at the way her eyes glazed over when his breath danced across her face.

"I'm just keeping you warm," he lied, wondering if she knew the kind of effect that she was starting to have on him. He almost hoped that she did.

"Fine," Hermione said. He smirked. Peaceful quiet ensued. It wasn't awkward or nervous like it had been before, but it felt _right_. Actually, in that second, it felt more than right. With her so close, every breath tickling his face, Draco only wanted to get closer. He wanted to kiss her. Just as he was making up his mind to lean in, to press his lips to hers, Hermione interrupted his thoughts.

"You should tell me about your family," she said. "I want to know about your past."

_Way to ruin the moment__, _Draco thought with a grimace.

"My father is a prick, my mother cares about me, but she's too guilty about letting my father be a prick. Good enough?" Draco's words were terse. Hermione didn't need to know about his family. It'd probably make him look even worse than he already did.

"You have other family too. Your aunt-" Hermione started.

"My aunt is insane," Draco cut in. "And that's all you need to know."

"What would they do if they saw this, right now?" she wondered. Draco groaned.

"You ask too many questions," Draco notified her.

"Malfoy-"

"My mother would disapprove, but would allow it. My father would disown me," he answered honestly. "My aunt would literally kill me. You were close to Sirius Black, you know how she feels about family members who don't feel the way that they should about Muggle-borns."

Hermione swallowed, looking at him in horror.

"Then why are you even here? With me?"

"I don't care about my father, I hate my aunt. I care about you, and that's what matters," Draco answered quietly, sincerely.

Hermione's eyes widened at this, like she hadn't expected him to actually say it. For a long time, she was quiet, looking down at her hands and thinking hard, but then she looked up at him sweetly and softly asked, "How did that happen?"

"You were there," Draco answered softly, "when no one else was. That means something."

Hermione smiled, snuggling closer to him.

"You aren't so bad, Malfoy," Hermione told him. "That was actually… sweet."

Draco pretended to gag, when really her words meant a lot more to him than they should have.

"That's pushing it," Draco said. Her smile suddenly turned teasing.

"Okay, Malfoy. You aren't sweet. You're cruel, and terrible. Happy?"

"Yeah," Draco said, burying his face in her hair. "I am."

...

A week after that, after more walks through the snow and holding hands and being happier than he had in a very long time, that happiness vanished. Draco was heading back to the dungeons from his DADA class when someone grabbed his arm as he was turning a shadowy corner.

He didn't know how he knew that it was his father. The Death Eater's face was masked. But he could feel it.

"How'd you get in here?" was Draco's first nervous question. The figure raised his mask, confirming Draco's suspicions. Lucius Malfoy.

"Snape has found a way to get Death Eaters into the school," Lucius said stiffly. Then he proceeded to put several charms around the corner in which they were standing. Draco wondered if he could smell Hermione on him. Somehow, he wouldn't doubt it.

"What are you doing here?" asked Draco darkly.

"Dumbledore is still alive."

The boy ignored the statement as best as he could.

"Look at Potter's friends, though. Weasley is acting like they don't exist, and Granger has been spending most of her time groveling at my feet."

It felt wrong, saying something like that. Something that so obviously wasn't true.

"Getting one task complete isn't good enough, Draco," his father spat. His eyes had gotten darker than they had been before, a little less controlled. Angrier. Azkaban hadn't been good for him, and the knowledge made Draco's heartbeat quicken with fear. "You need to finish them both. Now, what have you done about Dumbledore?"

"I've been researching ways to kill him, but he's one of the greatest wizards in history. I haven't found anything that will work."

That was somewhat true. Sure, Draco had found several good ideas and had to force himself to shoot them down, but he didn't think he needed to mention that.

"Draco," his father hissed, saliva hitting Draco in the face. "You have to do better. In case you need a reminder, the punishment for failing to finish him is death."

"What do you insist that I do?" Draco growled at him.

"If you're too weak to barge into his office and kill him, why won't you poison him? Do _something_. Snape is worried about your lack of progress, and it's concerning me as well."

"But-"

"No buts Draco. You've failed me enough times, this is your chance to prove you're more than just a disappointment. You haven't even attempted to kill the man once. If you are going to try, notify Snape-"

"That bloody traitor would just warn-"

"Draco," his father shouted. "Do as I say. If Severus does not contact me within two weeks, then I will pay you another visit. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Father," Draco muttered. Then Lucius tapped his head with his wand and disappeared.

Draco immediately turned around and went to Myrtle's bathroom.

There, he stared into the mirror, looking at his reflection and picking apart what he saw, finding disgust with everything. He had his father's hair, his father's face, his father's eyes. He had the same tattoo on the same place on the same arm. They were so much alike. Too much alike.

But then why did he suddenly like a Mudblood so much? Why couldn't he stop thinking about her? Why had he wanted to kiss her? And if he was so much like his father, why did the thought of killing Dumbledore make him break down like it was the end of the world?

"Are you okay?" he heard Myrtle ask tentatively. He opened his mouth to answer, but then he saw another face in the mirror. There was no mistaking the shock of black hair and round glasses that were peeking through the door.

Draco turned as he pulled out his wand, starting his spell before he was even facing him. "Expelliarmus!"

Potter ducked out of the way, then fired one of his own. It hit the sinks, and water started spraying everywhere, soaking Draco to the bone.

"Cruc-" he started, planning on casting the curse that his father had tortured him with. But Potter was quicker.

"Sectumsempra!" he shouted. For one second, nothing happened. Then it was as if an invisible enemy had started slicing away at him. Draco felt swords slicing through his back, his chest, his arms. He wanted to cry out, but the pain left him in shock. He could smell the blood, and the edges of his vision were blackening.

He heard Potter scream before he collapsed to the ground and blacked out.

...

When Draco woke up, his chest was tight, but other than that he felt fine. Someone had apparently administered the counter curse.

In a rush, everything that had led up to his getting cursed flooded into his head, and he jolted up, ignoring the way that his head started swimming. Madam Pomfrey, seeing her patient making sudden movements, rushed over to him.

"Mr. Malfoy, I wouldn't recommend sitting up."

"How long has it been since I was out?" Draco asked her, only laying his head back down when her famous glare darkened her features.

"Just over a week," she said. "The curse was very powerful, and despite Professor Snape's quick action, it did dangerous internal damage that was very difficult to repair. I still suggest that you stay in bed for at least two more days."

Over a week. Stay in bed for two more days. That would leave him almost no time to make even a halfhearted attempt to kill Dumbledore. Suddenly, just on a whim, he thought of a stupid and faulty plan that he didn't think would ever work. All that he wanted was to be able to tell Snape he'd made an effort. So, he did the easiest thing he could think of. When Madam Pomfrey had turned around, Draco slipped his wand off of the table beside his bed and held it up.

"Imperio," he whispered. The old witch turned to him with blank eyes, waiting for her commands.

"_Find Dumbledore something to drink. Anything. Then spike it with whatever poison you can find, as long as it's deadly enough to kill. Don't be obvious, and do not notify anyone of your intentions." _

Then the witch left him alone.

A day later, she was sent of to Saint Mungo's to help recover from the curse. Dumbledore, not being an idiot, had caught her.

The day after that, Draco was released from the hospital wing. As soon as he stepped out the door, he was met by Severus Snape.

"That was pathetic," the older wizard growled at him.

"I tried," Draco argued. "If you have any better ideas, then tell me."

"This is your job," Snape said darkly.

"I'm trying," Draco lied insistently. The other Death Eater gave him a look of pure disgust.

"You don't know where your loyalties lie. You can't be thick enough to think that the entire school hasn't noticed your infatuation with the Mudblood. You've been flaunting it with everyone. I am in a mind to turn you over to the Dark Lord at this moment for treason."

Because Draco was a Malfoy, his face didn't show a speck of the terror he was feeling. Instead, he told Snape the lie that he'd attempted to feed himself.

"I'm disgusted that you think I would actually fall for a creature like that," Draco said smoothly, looking directly into Snape's eyes as he spoke. He knew the other man could read his thoughts, but he brought old ones to the front of his mind, thoughts of disgust and hate and wanting to kill Hermione Granger. Snape would no doubt be satisfied with those. "If you remember, I do have another task that I'm required to complete."

"To separate Weasley, Granger, and Potter. I do not think that entails forming bonds with any of them."

"Bond," Draco scoffed. "Your opinion of me must be terribly low if you really think I've ever had a _bond_ with that girl. I've been working at this since the start of the year.

"First, I made her fall in love with Weasley, and they started to alienate Potter. Then I cursed the Weasel to make him cheat on her, knowing that he'd be caught. They broke it off and she was devastated. Potter was infuriated at the Weasel for cheating, and that got rid of him. That left Granger. For the past month I've been going to extreme, rather disturbing, measures to get her to fall for me." Draco smirked. "And it's working. Why do you think the scar-faced git pulled that curse on me? She's leaving him for me, and pretty soon, he's going to be all alone."

Draco watched the professor nervously as he seemed to chew over everything he'd been told. Then, Snape started clapping.

"I am very impressed. As you can see, even I was fooled. Your plan is brilliant. The Dark Lord has always been captivated with your problem solving ability, and that is why he chose you for this task. I was doubtful, but now I can see that he has made the right choice. When the battle starts, no one will interfere with Potter, and that is all the Dark Lord has asked of you. Very good, Draco."

"May I go?"

"There is one more thing which I must tell you."

"And that is?"

"I have made an unbreakable vow with your mother," he told him severely. "Your problems with killing the old man are becoming obvious. If you fail, I will finish him for you. Therefore, I order you to focus only at your other task, and wait until the moment comes to worry about the headmaster. If you continue with what you're doing now, you will only cause problems for yourself."

Although knowing his mother didn't have confidence in him wasn't very inspiring, Draco was relived by the words that came out of his professor's mouth.

"Thank you Professor," said Draco quickly, bowing his head.

"It will be my pleasure," Snape said darkly. Then he waved the boy away. "Now go. I'm sure that your Mudblood is waiting for you."

And oh, was she waiting for him.

Draco hadn't so much as turned the corner to leave the hospital wing when Hermione stepped out from the shadows. Suddenly, her glare didn't seem like it belonged on a Pomeranian anymore.

Maybe a Doberman, something that would rip his throat out.

It was even scarier because there were no tears. Just anger. Raw anger.

It was pretty safe to say that Hermione had overheard him.

"I _hate _you," Hermione snarled, speaking before Draco had the chance to explain anything.

For once, he didn't bother to hide his emotions. He let his fear and hurt show plainly on his face.

"Granger, listen," Draco pleaded. But she'd heard enough of what he had to say. Raising her wand, Hermione fired a nonverbal spell at him. This time, he wasn't expecting it, and it hit him straight in the chest, causing him to fly backwards, his entire body erupting into white hot pain.

Draco didn't yell or scream. He just sat there and let himself feel it, revel in it. Because that pain was so much better than what he felt when he happened to wonder what Hermione Granger's current opinion of him was.

The pain faded away. It was nothing permanent. The second he stopped feeling it, Draco hurried to Myrtle's bathroom and sunk to the ground, holding his face in his hands and shaking. Myrtle came to him almost instantly, and he stayed in the bathrooms that night, curled in a ball, letting a dead ghost comfort him.

...

The next days drug on.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts conversations stopped. So did the walks. Oh, Draco tried to get Hermione to talk to him. It just didn't work.

"Granger-" he'd start. And Hermione would shoot him a glare. Then Ron and Harry, whom she'd apparently spilled everything to, would glare at him as well. Draco, not having the heart to glare back for something he so rightly deserved, would take to glaring at his professor instead, because if Snape hadn't talked to him, then he wouldn't have to worry about anything.

During that week, Draco got no sleep. He turned into a zombie. His skin was an unhealthy gray. His eyes started sagging.

They hadn't even been going out, he hadn't kissed her or anything. But it didn't make a difference to him. Without her, he had _no one_. Maybe if he'd had a friend to turn to, a parent who would comfort him, or even just a smiling face, it wouldn't have been so bad.

But he had no one.

He continued going to Myrtle's bathroom on a daily basis, and she'd sit with him the whole time. It was better there. No one looked at him like he was a piece of shit.

Then, one day, the bathroom wasn't empty when he walked in.

There, sitting on the floor, her eyes bloodshot and filled with tears, was Hermione Granger. Myrtle kept giving her vicious looks, but was peeking out of her stall and didn't seem to be bothering her.

Draco stopped and stared at Hermione, not sure of what he should do. Part of him wanted nothing more than to just turn away, but most of him knew that he had to stay. And so he did.

"Granger," Draco whispered, stepping all the way into the bathroom so that she could see him.

Hermione leapt to her feet, the sadness in her eyes turning to burning hate. Her wand was out of her pocket in an instant. Luckily, Draco had anticipated that welcoming, and got his wand up just as quickly. It was shaking in his hand.

"Let me explain," Draco said as calmly as he could, "or I will make you." She gave him a purely disgusted look that he hadn't seen for a very long time. Outside, his face remained impassive, but it completely shredded away his insides.

"Will you put me under the Imperius like you did to Ron?" she asked calmly, but that didn't mask the slight edge of hysteria.

"I wouldn't do that to you-"

"Of course you wouldn't," she said. "Because you're obviously too-"

"Would you just listen to me?" Draco shouted, taking another step closer to her. Hermione glowered at him.

"No, I won't. I know what you're going to say. You'll tell me that you lied to Snape, that none of it was true. You'll say that you do actually like me, that it has nothing to do with saving your pathetic arse. And _all of it _will be a lie." As Hermione finished, tears started forming in her eyes. Draco forced himself to look directly at her.

"I'm not going to lie," Draco spat. "I admit it, I got you and Weasley together, and I broke you up. I felt guilty as all hell afterwards, but I did it." He stepped even closer to her, his voice rising. "Then I was supposed to persuade you to go with Zabini, to make Potter angry. Only I couldn't. You were mad about Weasley, and it pissed me off."

"Malfoy, I don't want to hear-"

"Listen to me," Draco demanded. Hermione backed up, and even though the fear in her eyes almost killed him, he continued speaking. "I made myself take his place. I told myself that it would be easier, more convenient, that it was just all part of the plan."

"Please, stop-"

"But it wasn't," Draco finished over her protests. "It never was. That was my excuse, my cover-up. If you'd just think about it, then you'd know."

"You're lying," Hermione snapped at him, but her voice was getting weaker.

"This year, arguing and fighting with you, talking with you and making you laugh, it's the only time I've ever thought that my life actually meant something to someone."

"You're crazy," Hermione said, her voice lowering to a whisper.

"Yes," Draco agreed. "I am crazy. Because there's no way that I should like you as much as I do."

Hermione knelt to the ground in what looked like defeat, tears coming to her eyes.

"Through Ron, you've already broken my heart once," she whispered. "At least be decent enough to stop before you do it again."

Draco knelt down beside her and tried to put his fingers under her chin to make her look at him, but Hermione flinched out of the way.

"Hermione," he said softly, the name rolling unfamiliarly off his lips for the first time even though he'd been calling her that to himself for months, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You already have."

"If I'm such a horrible git, then why didn't I just off you and Weasley? Or why didn't I ship you off to my father? Why didn't I just give you to Zabini and let him have you. There are so many things that I could have done, but I picked the choice that would let me be with you. If I hadn't truly liked you, why would I have done that?"

"Because you're cruel," Hermione said. Draco cupped her cheek in his hand, and this time, she didn't have the energy to pull away.

"Even you can't be dense enough to think that. Hermione, it's because for some fucked up reason, I can't stay away from you."

Draco leaned in and tried to kiss her. She stiffened and turned her head away.

"No."

"Damnit, Hermione. I love you. Now let me kiss you, or I'll make you," Draco snarled, then leaned forward again and roughly caught her lips in his own. This time, Hermione didn't push him away. Draco's gut twisted uncomfortably as she stiffened at first, fearing that she'd throw him off. Instead, she started kissing him back.

It tasted like tears, and Draco could feel desperation in the way that Hermione's mouth frantically started moving with his, in the way that her arms held onto him like she thought he was going to be torn from her forever. It was desperate and bittersweet, but to Draco it was enough. He forgot about being a Death Eater. He forgot about his mission, and Snape, and his family. All that existed was the stupid Mudblood that he'd grown to love.

He wanted to stay like that forever. He never wanted it to be anyone other than just the two of them.

But he knew that it would stop too soon, and it did. Hermione pulled away first, still crying.

"Do you really love me?" she panted. Draco sighed.

"God Granger, you really do have to get your hearing checked."

Hermione didn't answer. Instead, she sat up and reached for his left arm. Draco watched in horror, his heart beating faster and faster as she pushed the sleeve of his robes up. He wanted to move, he wanted to jerk his arm away, but he couldn't. He couldn't think at all until she'd pushed away that fabric and revealed his ugly Dark Mark.

"I'm not a Death Eater," Draco told her sharply. She looked at it nervously, like she was worried that the snake would bite her.

"When Snape was talking to you, I figured that he'd probably marked you. It would only make sense."

"I'm not a Death Eater," he insisted again. "Just because I have a stupid tattoo doesn't change anything."

Then, to his immense surprise, she kissed him again.

"I know," she whispered. Then he pulled her close and held her tightly against him, wishing that he'd never have to let go.


	12. Chapter 12

The next day in DADA, Snape brought up the subject of dementors once again. It was becoming something of a necessity, as the papers were constantly filled with news of more and more attacks. Draco didn't know why Snape bothered to teach it, when really the point of having them on the Dark Lord's side was to kill as many Muggleborns as possible. It made no sense that one of his followers would be teaching several of those same Muggleborns how to cast a patronus.

Draco hated this class. Snape was such a filthy hypocrite.

Well, and he still couldn't stand to watch Hermione's bouncy little otter flying everywhere when he sat and watched miserably. No matter how he felt about her, he did not like getting shown up.

"God, everyone knows you can cast the stupid patronus. I don't see why you keep going over it again and again," Draco muttered bitterly. Hermione turned and narrowed her eyes at him.

"You can just admit that you're jealous," she said. Draco snorted.

"Of course I'm not jealous. It's perfectly common for a sixth year student not to be able to conjure a patronus. You're just lucky you had Potter to help you." Actually, it seemed like quite a few people had Potter to help them. Most of the class could now conjure a patronus, save for Draco, some of the other Death Eater Slytherins, and a few pathetic Hufflepuffs.

"It isn't when you've got the top marks in this class," Hermione said. Draco looked at her intently.

"You have got to know how I already know all of this stuff, Granger," he said casually. "And thinking happy, pure thoughts, isn't exactly easy for Voldie's little gang. It's impossible."

She rolled her eyes.

"For them, maybe, but if you're not one of them, then why would it concern you?" Draco could feel a challenge in her voice. "Maybe you are lying, after all. I mean, if you really did love me, then wouldn't you have some happy thought to do with me?"

Draco momentarily considered the possibility. He was a Death Eater, but he had also felt something real, and although it wasn't purely happy, he could still feel her kiss from the night before, and that alone told him just how powerful the memory was.

"I'll try," he compromised unthinkingly.

"I thought so."

Draco stood up and grabbed his wand, forgetting about the fellow Death Eater just a few yards away. He raised the wand into the air and started thinking about kissing Hermione, about holding her and how warm her smile always was. Then he waved his wand and said the words.

A brilliant blue light radiated from his wand, and it quickly started taking form. For a moment, after all the ferret jokes he'd heard, he was worried that it was going to end up as one of the little rodents, but as he focused on his memory more strongly, the light took a very clear shape.

"I always knew it'd be a snake," Hermione said with a grin, looking at the enormous cobra that was now slithering through the air. Draco elbowed her in the ribs. He noticed Harry and Ron whispering and pointing, but he just shot them a smirk and turned back to Hermione.

"Did you, now? And is there anything wrong with it?"

"I think that it's beautiful," she said. He rolled his eyes and was about to tell her that she was crazy when another, much less welcome voice interrupted him.

"Mister Malfoy, I would like to visit with you after class."

Draco's heart dropped into his stomach. Shit. He'd completely forgotten about Snape. Now, his lie would no longer seem very convincing. He'd just told Snape everything that he needed to know with that one simple spell. His face paled, and he immediately let his patronus disappear.

"Draco?" Hermione wondered nervously. Draco glanced at her.

"Later," he said. His voice was smooth and unconcerned, but somehow it almost seemed like she'd picked up on his worry. He didn't know how, but he could see the concern in her eyes. The feeling disconcerted him. He didn't like knowing that she could read him so easily.

"Are you sure, because-" Even though Draco did appreciate her worry, sometimes Gryffindors and their bloody righteousness were annoying.

"I said that I would tell you later. I'm starting to genuinely worry that you do have hearing problems," Draco said. Hermione slapped his arm.

"You are such an insufferable git," she said, even though her voice was light and teasing.

"Good glory Granger, all I was saying is that I know what words come out of my mouth the first time, and if I didn't mean them, I would not say them. You don't need to ask me if I'm sure, or if I mean them, because obviously I'm restrained enough not to let anything out of my mouth that I don't want you to hear," Draco explained in exasperation.

In all reality, he wasn't so sure about that one, not the way his brain sometimes fogged up around Hermione, but he let it go.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said like it was a huge deal. "I forgot that you were almighty and perfect. Would you like me to bow to you, Lord Draco."

Draco smirked broadly.

"Actually, Hermione I would like that."

Hermione snorted.

"You are so-"

Snape walked up behind the two of them, and Draco cut Hermione off with a frantic hand gesture.

"What is so fascinating, Miss Granger, that you and Mister Malfoy have stopped practicing your wonderful spells?" asked Snape darkly. He looked at Draco when he said the last part of the sentence, his eyes questioning.

"Oh, um, well…" Draco looked at the floor and smiled sheepishly. He doubted that Snape would buy it, especially not with the smile, but anyone who didn't know just how well Draco could lie would have been thoroughly impressed.

Hermione's mouth just about hit the floor, but Draco showed no reaction to that. Snape sneered.

"Mister Malfoy, remember, you are in class." Then he stalked off, not looking at the two of them until he dismissed the rest of the room, leaving the two Death Eaters alone.

"I do believe that you know what I wish to talk to you about," Snape told him shortly.

"That stupid spell means nothing. It's just that when you're as talented of a wizard as I am, you can... bend the rules of magic a little to make some exceptions," he said with as much cockiness as he could manage to pull off.

Snape let out a single low chuckle.

"Mr. Malfoy, you aren't fooling anybody. If you can cast that spell, you aren't a true follower of the Dark Lord."

Draco scoffed, pulling it off perfectly.

"Like I give a rat's arse about what you say. I'm a faithful servant, no matter what," Draco said.

Then Snape, completely shocking him, raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum," he said, and an elegant doe flew out of his wand. Draco's eyes widened as a million conflicting thoughts began jostling around in his head.

"I knew you were traitor," Draco said quietly, not sure what to think of his professor at that moment. "You're Dumbledore's lapdog, just like they all say."

"And you aren't spending time with Miss Granger because of your beautiful little 'plan', are you?" For some reason, Draco didn't find it necessary to lie. If Snape was to be believed, and Draco could feel that he was, then the truth couldn't hurt him. Draco knew about Snape's patronus as well, so Snape couldn't tell Voldemort anything without hurting himself as well."

"No, I'm not. I don't care what you say, but I do like her," Draco said boldly. To his shock, Snape's thin lips creaked up into a resemblance of a smile.

"I never thought I'd have to worry about the spawn of Lucius Malfoy getting in trouble for falling for a Mudblood."

"Don't say that word," Draco growled, but Snape just looked at him in amusement.

"You can't be so defensive of them," Snape said. "It's suspicious, and the Dark Lord already thinks that you're weak. I'm… proud of you for being able to overcome what your father has taught you, but you must realize that flaunting your preferences will get yourself and your family killed."

"No shit. That's what that stupid plan I told you about is for."

"A cover up?"

"It wasn't at first," Draco said, like that'd make it sound better.

"Well, just don't play your part too convincingly," Snape said. "And I wouldn't show off your little snake either. It'd be smarter to go around defending your girlfriend. At least you can defend yourself on that charge, but your patronus is undoubtedly condemning."

"Yes, Professor."

"Now go, and remember that you are being watched." Draco mumbled one more yes, then left the classroom. He wanted to search for Hermione, but figured that she was in her common room and didn't want to search. Instead, he returned to the dungeons and drew his curtains around his bed, then cast another patronus and watched the beautiful glowing cobra with a smile on his face.

This was proof.

He wasn't a monster.

...

The next day, the amortentia they were brewing had finished, and Slughorn considered it the greatest he'd seen a pair of students manage.

Draco didn't even argue when he smelled lavender in its pearly steam.

"What's it smell like to you?" Hermione wondered. Draco shook his head and smirked.

"Frizzy-haired Gryffindor," he said offhandedly. "What else would it be?"

"I was just making sure that you did smell me. Knowing you, it'd probably be a broomstick or something." Draco jokingly pushed her, and Hermione started laughing, which got the entire class looking at them. Ron made a throwing up sound in their direction and sent Hermione a warning glance that he didn't even try to hide from Draco.

"It's moments when I see him jealous like this that the regret for my past mistakes hits me the hardest," he said seriously.

"Really?" she asked. Draco smirked.

"Hell no. It's the only time when I can actually take some sort of joy in what I've done." Hermione shook her head and mouthed an apology to Ron, but Draco wasn't paying attention anymore anyway. He was too busy sniffing his potion, amazed at how exactly it smelled like Hermione's hair.

...

More time passed, and Draco spent nearly all of it with Hermione. Whether it was walking through the grounds with her, or holding her hand, or just sitting together in classes, they were always together. Sure, rumors flied, but Draco told the Slytherins that he was just playing with her, and Hermione told her friends that he had changed. For a while, it seemed like everything was going to go smoothly.

Then, Slytherin's second Quidditch game of the year came along. They were playing Ravenclaw, and Draco was making their seeker, Cho Chang, look like an absolute moron. Because he could, and because even Hermione couldn't change him completely, he'd dart off towards something, even though he had no idea where the snitch was. And Cho would follow. Every single time.

But then, when he actually did see the snitch flying towards the stands, he took off for it full speed without any fear of getting hurt. He grasped the snitch seconds before he hit the wooden wall, falling himself, but slowing his broom enough that he could stagger away. Cho hadn't stopped quite as quickly.

It all happened so fast that Draco didn't know what was going on. He hadn't landed very nicely, so he wasn't aware anything was wrong until Ravenclaw's keeper started screaming for medical attention. Draco heaved himself off the ground and watched as Cho was levitated off the field.

Then, because standing around wouldn't do any good, he just left. He didn't think he'd need to make a speech or anything. He hadn't meant it, and anyone could see that he wasn't trying to send her on a wild goose chase that time. He had caught the snitch.

As soon as Draco had finished changing, he realized that his assumption that he would get away blamelessly was completley mistaken. He'd forgotten about how much of an arrogant pighead Harry Potter could be. The dark-haired Gryffindor cornered Draco the second that he stepped inside the school, with Weasley following close behind.

"I don't know what game you're playing, Malfoy," Harry hissed, "but trying to hurt Cho because of me was low." Draco put a hand on his wand to remind himself that it was there, and that he could use it more effectively than either of the two dimwits in front of him.

"I didn't try to hurt her," Draco snapped. "And because of you? I had no idea that you were so egotistical."

"Malfoy," Weasley growled, his face beet red with anger. "We know you're lying. You're up to something, and Harry and I would both really appreciate it if you would tell us what it is before we are forced to _make _you."

"Good. Because I'm telling the truth."

"You never tell the truth. It's like what you're doing with Hermione. You're going to hurt her. If I wouldn't think so because of the things you've already done to her, I'd know because I heard you say it on the train."

Draco rolled his eyes at The Boy Who Lived.

"Good Lord, Potter. I said those things to piss you off. Do you think that I didn't know you were listening?"

"But after what you did to her and Ron? No, I don't trust you. You're targeting people close to me, and I want you to tell me why, or I'm going to force the answer out of you. You've got orders for this. I know it."

"I take orders from no one, you stupid git."

"Your arm, Malfoy," Weasley demanded.

"You aren't going to look at my sodding-"

"Now," Harry roared. Draco held up his right arm and pulled the sleeve up, revealing pale white flesh. He hoped they wouldn't catch that it was the wrong one.

"Do you think we're stupid, Malfoy? Your left arm." Draco hesitated, his brain rapidly running through ways to get out of this. His wand burned in his pocket, but he knew that Hermione wouldn't forgive him for hurting the two of them.

Speaking of Hermione… He heard footsteps rapidly approaching, and his muscles relaxed as he caught sight of a bushy brown head coming around the corner.

"Hermione, get your bloody guard dogs off me!" Draco spat. Harry and Ron boxed him in even more.

"You aren't getting out of it this time," Ron said, yanking his left arm forward.

"Get away from him," Hermione screeched, taking off down the hallway. Right as she skidded up behind them, Ron pulled Draco's sleeve up. Draco cringed away, praying that the thing would have miraculously disappeared somehow, but it was _right there. _

Ron and Harry stared at it in shock like they couldn't believe they had such blatant proof that Draco was the evil bastard they had always expected. Hermione was just plain angry.

"Can't you guys ever just leave him alone?" she yelled. "Do you know what he's going through?"

Her two friends gaped at her, and Draco felt his heart lighten. Suddenly, Harry and Ron no longer scared him.

She picked him over them.

"Hermione, can't you see his arm?" Ron asked, holding it up even more, so that it was right in her face. Draco tried to yank it away, but the Weasel's grip got tighter.

"I'm not blind, Ronald Weasley," she growled.

"But Hermione, you can't possibly defend him," Harry said, glaring daggers at the mark on his arm.

"Yes, I can. He _isn't _a Death Eater. If you guys don't believe that, then get lost. I'm tired of you harping on him, and accosting him, and now you're even cornering him in dark hallways. He didn't hurt Cho on purpose, and he's not going to hurt me."

Then, with that, Hermione ripped Draco's arm out of Ron's grip and drug him off until they were alone.

"Hermione ," Draco said. She kept going. "Hermione."

She stopped.

"What?"

"You know that I love you like crazy, right?"

Hermione stopped and turned to look at Draco, tilting her head like she couldn't really believe that he was actually saying that.

"I don't believe you've ever mentioned that," she replied finally, leaning in towards him. Draco smiled and leaned forward to touch his lips to hers.

This time, she wasn't broken down and pissed off. This time, he wasn't threatening to fall apart at the seams. There were no tears or desperation.

This time, it was completely and utterly perfect, and he couldn't believe that after everything he'd done, she was his, and he'd have something so perfect to carry with him forever.

It was better than flying.

But she was innocent little Hermione Granger, and she pulled away as soon as Draco tried to deepen the kiss.

"I don't get you," Draco growled under his breath. "You let Weasley get all over you, and now you're acting like a nun."

She smiled at him.

"That's because just kissing you is better than anything I've ever done with Ron," she answered. He laughed and slung his arm around her shoulder.

"So you don't want to be exposed to too much of a good thing all at once?" Draco asked with a joking arrogance. She surprised him by standing on her tiptoes and whispering in his ear.

"That's exactly what I'm thinking," she said, her hot breath tickling his skin. He turned and let his lips catch hers for just a moment.

"If that's how you're going to be, maybe I should switch to WEasley's technique to avoid that problem."

"And what is Ron's technique?" Hermione wondered. He framed her face with his hands.

"Trying to eat you."

Hermione smiled, but didn't move away from him.

"Maybe that's not a good idea. I guess, if you promise not to amaze me too much…" she trailed off as he leaned in again, stopping entirely when he restarted the kiss, and Draco could feel that she wouldn't stop him this time… when both of them were promptly covered with a bucket of bright green goop. Draco cursed under his breath.

"Peeves!"

Hermione started giggling, and Draco could plainly see the love in her eyes. He started laughing too, trying to wipe some of the goop off her face, but just adding more of his own.

"Kiss me now?" he wondered, and she started laughing even harder. The two of them continued down the hallway, Draco holding tightly to Hermione, and laughing like everything was perfectly fine.

But deep down in Draco's mind, he knew that things wouldn't be so joyful for very long.


	13. Chapter 13

Although Draco embraced the happiness that being with Hermione gave him, in a way he detested it. The days no longer drug on and on, but slipped through his fingers like sand. He watched them fly by, strung together in an unrecognizable blur. All he could think was that they were leaving him too quickly, that they were going too fast. The end of the school year was approaching much too rapidly for his taste, and everything that was so perfect was in position to be shattered.

Draco's missions were both failures. He'd given up on murdering his headmaster, and doing anything with Weasley and Hermione made him sick. He hated himself for it, but his family was going to die unless some kind of a miracle happened.

So, with the growing happiness came a rising sense of dread, a sense of impending doom.

It wasn't just Draco that suffered from this. He could feel the dark cloud of the war starting to suffocate the entire school. He could see it in the eyes of the teachers, could feel it in the manner of the students, and could hear it in the words that the there other houses were speaking in worried whispers and low breaths.

Even worse were the things that his own house were doing and saying. Crabbe and Goyle were very obviously mapping out the place for their fathers. Zabini spread rumors that made Draco sick. Some seventh years went around and terrorized the younger students, playing pranks that would warrant their expulsion if they were ever caught.

Perhaps more keenly than anyone other than Draco, the golden trio was definitely feeling the suffocating effect of the war. Some of it was his own fault for getting Hermione mad at Ron and Harry, but more of it stemmed from Voldemort himself. Harry was withdrawn, and his temper had flared to a ridiculous level. People started clearing out of his way whenever he came around, including Draco. And because of his best friend's attitude, Ron's temper was sparking even more easily than usual.

Their attitude, probably his as well, chaffed on Hermione's usually gentle demeanor. She didn't talk as much, and most of the time all she wanted was for Draco to hold her, which he was happy to do. He didn't want to talk either, and having her safe in his arms was all that he needed to clear his head for at least some amount of time.

But despite all of the worrying and brooding and holding and thinking, life went on. And on. And on.

There was that strange feeling, somewhere between dreading the moment that everyone knew was coming, and just wanting to get it done and over with.

"I know that it's going to happen, but a part of me hopes that it never will." Hermione whispered one night when they were sitting in the astronomy tower, Draco's arm draped over her shoulder. Swirls of stars twinkled happily in the sky, oblivious to the war that was tearing apart the world that they watched over so carefully.

"They will come," Draco told her for the twentieth time. "They know a way into the school, but I can't imagine what it is."

"Dumbledore wouldn't believe Harry when he told him what Snape was."

"I wouldn't believe Potter either. I don't think Snape is on Voldemort's side either."

"He hates Snape."

"So do I. But I don't let myself get blinded by prejudices."

"Harry is…"

"Overly emotional."

"It's okay to show emotions sometimes, Draco," Hermione argued, even though Draco could see that she agreed with him in this case.

"I realize that. But it's also unwise to let them control the way that you conduct yourself."

Hermione turned her head so that she could look at Draco's face, but he kept his eyes straight ahead.

"But not everyone has been trained like you have, and quite frankly that's a good thing."

"It is a good thing," Draco agreed softly. They sat in silence for a while longer.

"If it comes down to a fight, what side will you fight on?" Hermione asked. Draco didn't answer right away because he didn't know what the answer was. He despised Voldemort and his followers, and fighting against Hermione would kill him, but he didn't want to erase any chance that his family had of survival.

"Family or friends?" he asked dryly. "That's the choice that I'll have to make."

Hermione put a gentle hand on his arm.

"Whatever you choose, I'll understand. I may be mad if you go to fight with Voldemort, but I know that he'd kill your family if he sees you with us."

Draco sighed, remembering flying on that thestral, wanting to just go live in the mountains. That would be easier than making yet another choice that could cost him his life.

"Maybe we should just run away," he said. "The both of us. Potter is superman, he doesn't need your help. Then there'd be no fighting, no choices. We could ride a thestral to the mountains and live there until the war is over. Then we can have real lives, and not the pathetic half lives Voldemort has us living right now."

She rested her head back on his chest and he could almost feel her eyes close. He knew that she did that when she was thinking.

"Neither of us could do it, not when so many people are depending on us to stay here," Hermione finally said.

"I knew that you'd say that. But I still had to ask."

"You couldn't run either, to let your mother fight it out," Hermione reminded Draco.

"No, I couldn't," Draco said honestly.

"But it would be nice."

"Don't worry. When this thing is over, Voldemort will be dead. It'll just be a month, at the most."

"Then what's going to happen? People are going to be dead, the wizarding world will be in ruins," said Hermione, her perpetual optimism fading as the war drug came closer to Hogwarts.

Draco hated seeing that part of her, the part that didn't smile and wasn't happy.

"No, that's not going to happen. Potter's going to pull a victory out of his bum like he always has, and this stupid thing is going to get over before it has the chance to blow out of proportion," said Draco.

"Are you sure?" asked Hermione.

No, not at all. In fact, Draco was positive that thousands would die, that the entire war would be a horrible tragedy, and that it wasn't going to end after this single battle, but continue to drag on for an indeterminate amount of time. Until either Harry of Voldemort died.

Draco wanted to lie to Hermione and tell her that everything would be fine. He wanted to make her smile and laugh, but he couldn't. She wasn't stupid. She knew better.

"No, I'm not sure," he admitted. "But it's what we have to believe."

"I don't think I can," whispered Hermione. There were tears in her eyes. Draco held her more tightly and buried his face in her hair.

"Hermione, you're way too sickeningly optimistic for that attitude. Aren't I supposed to be the pessimist?"

"You're also good enough at lying that you can probably fool yourself."

"It's not lying," he said. "It's hoping."

...

Time continued to run away. That last month, those thirty days, turned into the most horrible kind of countdown. Every day, Draco would catch a glimpse of someone's Daily Prophet and notice the date, tucked away within all of the horrible headlines of murder and dementor attacks, and mass killings of Muggles and Muggleborns alike.

"Twenty eight more," he'd whisper to himself, then look at the Gryffindor table to make sure the his own Muggleborn was there. And every time she was, he'd find himself relaxing despite everything, smiling at her at a time when crying seemed more appropriate.

It was the morning where the countdown reached twenty when Potter grabbed Draco's arm on his way to breakfast. Draco pulled it away and glared at him.

"Do you want to molest me again?" he snapped.

Potter rolled his eyes.

"I had no idea that you were so sensitive Malfoy."

"Just cut to the chase," Draco said impatiently. He still couldn't bring himself to like Potter.

"Do you know how they're going to invade the school?" Potter asked lowly, casually. Draco wanted to snap at him to get lost, but he noticed that the Gryffindor didn't sound accusing at all. He just wanted to know what Draco knew.

Draco took a deep breath.

"No. I don't. I just know that Snape found a way to let them in, and that it's supposed to be near the end of the year, although I'm not sure of the exact date."

"Dumbledore is leaving next weekend," said Harry.

"And you're telling me this, why? Aren't you worried that I'll go back to my superiors and report it?" asked Draco sarcastically.

"They'll figure it out anyway, and I know they will. But I was just wondering if they'd plan to strike then."

"Most likely," Draco frowned. That cut his days down. A lot. No longer where there twenty eight left. Rather like ten.

"And there'll be a battle?"

"No, they're all going to have cookies and tea, then maybe we can play exploding snap together. Obviously there's going to be a battle," drawled Draco.

"And he's going to be there?" asked Harry. It didn't take a genius to figure out who he was referring to.

"It depends if you're going to be there," said Draco.

"I will be."

"Then he'll be there, and he's going to do everything in his power to kill you."

"I know that."

"Well, good luck, Potter," Draco coughed stiffly. He was surprised that those words managed to come out of his mouth.

Potter's eyes widened a little in surprise before he managed to collect himself and nod, taking in the words like he'd almost expected them, but hadn't quite remembered it at first.

"Thanks, Malfoy... You too."

"Thank you."

"And Malfoy?" asked Potter. Draco raised a questioning brow. "You're a git, not a Death Eater."

"I'm flattered," chuckled Draco, shaking his head a little. He couldn't believe that he had actually managed a relatively civil conversation with Harry Potter.

"You should be," replied Potter lightly. Then the two of them returned to breakfast, not friends, but no longer enemies either.

...

Draco made sure that he savored the next nine days to the fullest. He frequently ditched classes to visit the thestrals or take in the grounds from high on the astronomy tower. Several times, he even convinced Hermione to skip with him because even she knew what was going to happen so soon. The two of them would wander around for hours, most of the time not talking, not really saying anything, but in turn saying everything that the other needed to know. She was there for him, she loved him. He could feel it in the way that she looked at him, in the way that her hand never left his.

The last day, the tenth day, they didn't bother going to class. Harry had left with Dumbledore. Draco was carrying the Felix Felicis he'd won on the very first day in his pocket, waiting for the Death Eaters to come. It wasn't for him, but Hermione. Because she'd need it, and maybe, just maybe, her luck would transfer to him as well.

The two of them stayed in the school, because they didn't want to be far away when everything started. They sat in the astronomy tower and waited.

"No matter what happens, please remember that I love you," he whispered into her hair.

"I love you too. Don't forget it, Draco." And they sat in silence. Until he thought of something.

"You should come with me. I want to say good bye to someone quick."

"And who's that?"

"God, Granger. You're thick. It's the girl that I have fun with when you're too busy getting cozy with Weasley." She slapped his arm, letting herself smile despite the somber mood.

"No, really. Who is it?"

"I'm serious," he confided. "Now let's go."

"Where are we-" But Draco just tugged her arm and pulled her along.

Realization dawned on Hermione's face where he stepped into Myrtle's bathroom. She appeared to him immediately.

"Draco!" she squealed excitedly. Then she looked at Hermione and gave her a polite hello.

"So you're cheating on me with her, aren't you?" Hermione whispered. Draco noticed Myrtle stiffen.

"She was talking about me," the ghost said, her voice ready to crack. Draco snorted.

"Of course not. If she was, I would kill her," Draco said very pointedly. Hermione tried to hold back a smile.

"Are you sure?" asked Myrtle skeptically.

"Certain."

"Well. Okay. What are you doing here with her?" asked Myrtle.

Draco took a deep breath, then proceeded to explain about the battle, and how he'd definitely have to leave afterwards and perhaps never see her again. As he spoke, her face grew darker and darker until she floated to the floor. He knew that if she had the ability to, she'd be crying.

"You could kill yourself now," Myrtle said sorrowfully, not really believing her words all. "Then we could haunt the bathroom together for eternity."

Draco shook his head.

"I still have things to live for. You know that as well as I do. But I won't forget what you did for me."

"And I won't forget what you've done for me," the ghost said back, and he thought to how there'd been no flooding toilets, no complaints of the screaming ghost, since he'd started talking to her. He'd given her a friend, and that's all she ever needed.

"I'll miss you," he said, then quickly let his arm hover over where her back would have been. She choked back a sob.

"Good bye Draco Malfoy."

"I remember you telling me that you stayed behind to haunt that horrible girl that hurt you, but maybe it was something else. Maybe, you just needed a friend, and now you can move on."

"I don't-" started Myrtle.

Draco swallowed. He didn't know why he cared so much, but he'd gotten past the fact that he'd started to and was now moving on to learning to deal with all these stupid feelings that the ghost and Granger had both managed to stir up inside him.

"Myrtle, try, okay?" he pressed. Then, with one last look at his first real friend, he grabbed Hermione's hand and led her out of the room. It seemed like it was just moments later when they heard the first scream.

"The Dark Mark!" someone screeched, and Draco was immediately filled with horrible dread, knowing that the Death Eaters had come. He took Hermione's face in his hands and kissed her one last time, throwing himself into it. He wanted to make it last forever, because he had no idea if he'd ever see her alive again. Then, thinking quickly, he shoved the bottle of Felix Felicis in her hands and started backing away.

"Remember, no matter what, I love you," he said.

"I love you too," Hermione answered, her voice no more than a whisper. Then Draco dashed off, leaving her behind, something like a string pulling at his heart the entire way. It was like they were connected, and every step away from her pulled at the connection more and more. He wanted to turn back, to try to convince her to run one more time, but he couldn't.

Following his instincts, he continued running until he reached the astronomy tower. There, Dumbledore was sitting, looking weak. Draco raised his wand at the old wizard and said in a very husky voice, "Expelliarmus." The old man's wand went flying.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his voice held no fear, no concern, no judgment or anger. Draco immediately had his suspicions confirmed. He couldn't even point his wand at the old man.

"I can't kill you," Draco whispered. At that moment, more Death Eaters crowded into the tower, and one in particular stood out. His aunt, her hair flying everywhere, her expression one of pure glee, put a hand on his shoulder.

"Show me what you learned this summer," she said eagerly. Draco could smell her pungent breath.

"I-," Draco tried, but he couldn't say anything. He was in the worst position of his life. Snape promised that he'd help. So where was that old git?

As soon as Draco thought that, a head of greasy black hair and a beak-like nose stepped through the small crowd that had now gathered.

"Avada Kedavra!" Snape bellowed, and Dumbledore went flying off of the tower. Draco felt very dizzy all of the sudden. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. He'd just seen the most powerful wizard in history fall, and his mind couldn't comprehend it. Whether he'd ever admitted it to himself or not, a part of him had always looked up to the old man, and now, he was just… gone. The thought made him shiver.

He was vaguely aware of Snape pulling him away, down and through the corridors. He could sense the fights going on around him, the black cloaks and school robes dancing around, the flashes of light, whether purple or white or green. Then, they were back outside, on the grounds. Snape, with a flick of his wand, sent Hagrid's hut into flames, then pulled Draco even further into the forest.

For the first time it dawned on him that Potter and Ron and Hermione were all fighting together. But he didn't care. He couldn't care. All he could think about was his headmaster, with his blank eyes, falling off of the tower. He glared at Snape, trying to meet his gaze. He wanted to accuse him of being a traitor. Not to Voldemort, but to himself, to the good guys. Because even as Draco tried to deny it, knowing that horrible thoughts could turn to horrible actions, and in turn cost his mother and himself their lives (if they weren't already doomed), he knew that he was now one of those good guys. One of the people that Snape had betrayed.

But the greasy haired git wouldn't look at him, couldn't see the hate and anger and sorrow that now clouded Draco's usually blank eyes.

"Where do we go now?" Draco choked out. His voice sounded weird, but he couldn't figure out why.

"To your home."

He put his hand in the crook of Snape's elbow and cringed as he was pushed and pulled through some other dimensions or some crap like that. Then, in an instant, he was standing in front of the cool sanity of Malfoy Manner.

"The new headquarters," Snape informed him.

So much for cool sanity.


	14. Chapter 14

Throughout the next summer, Draco wondered whether or not maybe he should just kill himself. Voldemort, the filthy snake-like creature himself, was now taking up residence at Malfoy Manor.

Even worse was the cold pride that he had for Draco. Voldemort had always expected great things from him, and Draco knew that his master wasn't ready for such young talent to go to waste. He could still remember his conversation with the Dark Lord after the battle had finished.

"_You have failed me Draco." _

_His cold red eyes sent Draco's heart into a horrible frenzy. _

"_No, I haven't," Draco insisted. "I was going to kill him, but Snape stole him from me. Ask my aunt. She was there. I may have faltered unnecessarily, but with her encouragement, I was ready to kill him, but Snape stole him before I had the chance." _

_Voldemort studied Draco's features, his cold eyes scanning his face for any signs of fear, any signs that the boy was lying. Draco knew there were none. _

"_Very well. I will talk to him. But of my other task?" _

_Draco decorated his face with a horrible scowl. _

"_That, I'm afraid I must take the fall for, my master. You see, death isn't good enough for me. So clean, so painless. That was my mistake. I was trying to break the trio, instead of simply finishing them." _

_He proceeded to go into intricate detail of the plan, elaborating at parts to instill more pain than had actually happen. _

"_Then why, Draco, were the three still all at the battle?" Voldemort wondered, although his anger was dissipating. It was obvious that the old snake liked Draco's line of thinking. _

"_Because," Draco growled, "the filthy Mudblood found out." _

_He told her about Snape pressing him on the issue, about her overhearing. Then, keeping the story as close to real as possible, for that made lying easier, he explained about begging for her to take him back, pleading that he didn't mean any of it, and of how she'd resisted him. _

"_After that," Draco concluded. "I cast a certain spell on the Mudblood and Weasley that would keep them limited to a certain part of the castle. It was crude, but I needed a last ditch effort to keep them away. They didn't interfere with your final fight, did they?" _

_The Dark Lord shook his head, and gave Draco the look of a proud grandfather. _

"_No, they did not. I must reward you for your impressive loyalty and intelligence. It is rather… rare to find a servant as brilliant as you are." _

Draco had to keep himself from cringing at the memories. It had only gotten worse from there. Since then, although his family wasn't held under a guillotine as they had been before, he was now Voldemort's lapdog. The Dark Lord would consult with him whenever he found it necessary, although he never truly took his opinion into account. He'd take Draco on tours of the dungeons with him, letting him look at the prisoners, laughing and telling stories about each one. Sometimes, when he was feeling 'generous', Draco would be required to torture them.

He hated it. He hated the looks of disgust that he got from the people in the dungeons. He hated hearing the screams and seeing the emancipated bodies. All of it was horrible, and he wanted to leave. He wanted to hide in Myrtle's bathroom and let her help him. He wanted to find Hermione, wherever she was, and hold her close to him, never letting go of her again. Even the thought of her made his stomach twist. He had no idea if she was still alive. All the Death Eaters the Dark Lord had were looking for her, and she had a price on her head nearly as high as Potter's. Pondering what kind of life she was now living, if she was even alive, gave him nightmares.

To make him more miserable, the Dark Lord wasn't the only new guest they had. Death Eaters swirled around the place constantly. His library, his own, private library, was turned into a meeting room, so he no longer had the one comfort he'd always been able to turn to at his house. Everywhere else, black cloaks would swarm about the manor, talking and growling and laughing at some new person that they'd killed. Perhaps worse of them all was the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback.

Greyback disliked Draco for a reason that the blond couldn't quite comprehend. That was one of the main reasons that Draco was so thrilled to go away to Hogwarts, why he'd stayed away from home over Christmas Break. Unfortunately, his father had ordered him home for the Easter holidays. Now, it seemed that Greyback was making up for lost time.

Speaking of the devil.

"Hello, Pup," Greyback growled in his ear. Draco wanted to shiver at the hunger in his voice, but he kept his ground and faced the enormous werewolf with unflinching eyes.

"Greyback," he said, acknowledging him with a curt nod. The man leaned over his shoulder and looked down at the copy of the Daily Prophet that Draco was reading.

"My name in there?" he asked. Draco turned to the back page, the one plastered with pictures of wanted Death Eaters. Along with Greyback, his entire family, including himself was on there, as well as most of his housemates.

"They even have an ugly picture," Draco said, holding it up for the werewolf to see.

"So you think I'm ugly?" he snarled. "Are you interested in seeing what you'd look like if I could get my hands on you?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders, nonchalantly pulling up his sleeves and showing his dark mark. When the wolf glared at him, he smirked.

"Warm in here, don't you think?"

Draco even turned his arm to put it in full view of the wolf, showing off what the wolf would never have.

"I ought to tear you to bits," growled Greyback.

"I'm sure the Dark Lord would love you for that," Draco said with a warning look in his eyes. "If you care for your life, I'd keep your grubby paws off me."

Knowing he'd been beat, the werewolf stalked away angrily, muttering about having work to do.

If only Draco had known what kind of work.

Three hours later, a bang announced that someone had apparated into the manor. Draco ignored it, focusing on the pink sun that was sinking below the horizon outside.

"Draco!" his mother called. There was something horribly off in her voice. He stood immediately. "We need your help with something."

Draco hurried, worried that maybe Greyback had returned to take his anger out on her. Then he walked into the room, and if he hadn't been a compulsive liar all his life, he would have gotten himself killed. Sitting in front of him were Ronald Weasley and an seemingly unconscious Hermione Granger, with a very badly bruised Harry Potter off to the side.

His heart started beating faster, every muscle in his body tensed, and a scream built in his throat.

Calmly, Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Yes?" he asked his mother. He noticed his aunt standing disgustingly close to the Hermione and it took everything he had to keep his face and eyes blank.

"This is them, isn't is?" Narcissa wondered. "Harry Potter and his friends. That's the girl, anyway. I know that's the girl."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Are you drunk mother? Don't you recognized her? She was a schoolmate of mine, a Slytherin. You remember Pansy, don't you? My ex-girlfriend."

Pansy Parkinson had gone missing several months before, and it was widely accepted among the Death Eater families that the forces of light had mercilessly captured and tortured her.

"That's not Pansy," his mother said, but her voice had turned unsure.

"Yes, it is," Draco insisted. "Her hair is obviously a horrible mess, but who knows what they could have done to her?"

"D-Drakie?" Hermione croaked, opening her eyes weakly. Draco was impressed. He figured that the girl couldn't lie to save her life. Now, here she was, in a life threatening situation, and she was finally managing to act convincingly.

"How many times have I told you not to call me that?" Draco asked coolly, like this situation wasn't weird at all. He stalked forward, stepping in front of Greyback, who's face was slowly turning to that of horror.

"Are you mad! Her parents died for the cause, and you drag her in here like a pathetic prisoner?"

"But the other two, that's Weasley hair."

Hermione sat up in a very Pansy-like manner, dusting off her robes despite appearing slightly dizzy.

"They're my cousins, you bloody moron. I've heard stories of your utter stupidity, but I never believed them until now."

Draco was more than impressed.

"What were they doing on the run?" Bellatrix asked, still suspicious.

Draco glared at her.

"She'd been captured by some of Potter's little cronies," he spat like Bellatrix was a total idiot. "Why do you think they're on the run? Actually, we should probably kick them out again. It'd be a lot more convenient for us if they were in the forest rather than wasting our valuable space."

"I thought you said she was your girlfriend," his aunt said warily. Draco sneered.

"_Ex_-girlfriend. That stupid slut cheated on me."

The Death Eaters all studied each other, seeing Hermione's angry sneer and Draco's impatient expression. Everything appeared to be completely genuine.

"Get the hell out of here, and don't go around saying the Dark Lord's name if you don't want to be caught again."

"I never said it," Hermione snapped. "You should get that stupid thing checked. We were arguing with some pathetic old man, and the old fool was stupid enough to say the Dark Lord's name. What I don't get is why _he's _not here instead."

Now they all looked embarrassed.

"We'll look into that," Narcissa said quickly, then the turned to the two boys. Ron was barely conscious, and Harry was sitting there quietly, watching Draco with curious emerald eyes.

"Are you two going to be okay?" Narcissa asked.

Harry grumbled an assent, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I apologize for their horrible incompetence, but your filthy brutes bashed them up fairly well," Hermione said haughtily.

"Quit being an arse," Draco snapped at her. Hermione just shook her head, then grabbed the two boys.

"Can I just apparate out?"

"Yes, we'll lower the wards for you," Draco's mother said.

As soon as Narcissa did, the three of them were gone, and Draco could breathe normally again.

...

Shortly, or to him it felt like shortly, afterwards, he was standing in the decimated battlegrounds of Hogwarts castle. People were glaring at him, but he didn't notice. He had eyes for only one person, and he could only hope that she hadn't fallen for Weasley again over the time that they had been seperated.

As Draco wandered throughout the Great Hall, his heart continued sinking into his chest. More and more bodies were piling up, some of them recognizable. One of the Weasley twins. His old professor, Lupin. His cousin, Nymphadora Tonks. A few feet away was his aunt, Bellatrix. Greyback was near them as well. He kept walking, scanning the faces of the dead for one that more than anything, he couldn't stand to see.

Then he saw a head of flaming red hair, and he knew that if a Weasley was somewhere, she'd be there too. He rushed over, ignoring the low cussing and dirty looks that were being sent his way. Draco knew that he deserved all of them, but he also knew better than to let any of them bother him.

"Weasley," Draco shouted, and Ron turned his head around to face him. The look on his face wasn't friendly. Draco almost choked when he realized it was because he was crying. Never had he seen Ronald Weasley cry. He thought back to the body he'd seen before… his brother. Suddenly, his words died in his throat.

"What do you want Malfoy?" His voice was dead.

"I'm sorry," Draco mumbled, not very Malfoy-like at all. "I'll find someone else."

Draco turned away, then stopped when he heard Ron taking a shuddering breath.

"Hermione's outside," he said softly. "I think she's looking for you."

Draco tried to force a genuine smile at him, but it came out as a grimace.

"Thank you, Weasel- Ron."

Then he held out his hand. A peace offering. The other boy took it gingerly and shook it firmly once he realized that it wasn't a joke.

"Best of luck," Ron said before turning away and making a beeline towards the crowd of red hair that was flocking around the body of the dead twin.

Draco found Hermione moments later, heading into the Hall with desperation on her face. He smiled shyly when he saw her, still not knowing how much had changed since they had last seen each other. Sure, Weasley had said that Hermione was looking for him, but that may have been for a variety of reasons.

But to Draco's relief, soon as Hermione's eyes met his, she darted across the grounds and threw her arms around him.

"I didn't think you made it," Hermione said, her body wracking with sobs. "I looked everywhere and I couldn't find you, and so many people died. Fred, and Lupin, and Tonks," she said, her voice cracking before she broke down into tears.

Draco didn't say anything. Like he'd done on their last days before the first battle, he simply held her close to him and stroked her hair. He didn't lie and tell her that it was going to be okay when he didn't know if it would be.

Harry very gently poked Draco on the arm a good while later.

"Hermione, Malfoy, they're having a feast. You should probably both be there."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"First, whatever moron wants to celebrate now should be shot, and second, I'd get my brain hexed out if I walked in there."

Hermione put a hand on his arm.

"I want to be with my friends," she said, her voice clogged with tears. "Please."

So, of course Draco went. It wasn't _that_ bad. Harry stood and told the story of what Draco did for them over the Easter Holidays, and even though his mother looked like she wanted to kill him, Draco couldn't even care because Hermione was with him, safe and sound, and it appeared as if everything was going to finally turn out alright.


	15. Chapter 15

Three years later-

A month after the final battle, the war had officially ended. Although there were casualties on both sides, great things rose from the ashes of the battles. Hogwarts had reopened, thousands of people acting under the Imperius curse were freed, and all surviving Death Eaters were locked away.

Except for one.

Draco pulled up his sleeve, again looking at the mark on his arm. It was no longer cold, but it hadn't faded in the least. A stark reminder of what he had been forced to become.

He had almost gotten shipped off to Azkaban. There were over two weeks of court cases and hearings, two of the most nerve-racking weeks of his life. But eventually, upon hearing everything his situation had to offer, Draco had been declared innocent.

After that, he and Hermione had officially started up their relationship again.

At first Draco had been skeptical, not sure it was real or would actually last, but as the months ticked away without a problem, he grew more and more sure of what he was doing. Just over a year after the war, he proposed.

Now it was his wedding day. Draco remembered over three years previous, looking at himself in the mirror. He remembered his sunken eyes and pale skin, his hollow cheeks and his shocking resemblance to a walking corpse.

It was appropriate then, that after how much he had changed, his appearance would be altered as well. Now, his lips were always curved into something like a smile. He had color back in his face, and although his eyes were still hard, they were no longer desperate or angry. All because of one single person, a person who he wouldn't have dreamt of ending up with in a million years.

How ironic that the Death Eater Slytherin would end up marrying the bushy-haired Muggleborn that held the Golden Trio together.

"You done checking yourself out, Malfoy?" Harry asked, peeking his head in through the door. Draco glared at him, but there wasn't any malice in the look. Although he and Potter had never really hit it off as friends, they got along well enough.

"No, not yet. It's an enjoyable pastime, Potter, when the mirror doesn't shatter the moment you look at it."

"Funny, Malfoy. Now you should hurry up, or-" A head of shining red hair poked her face into the room over his shoulder. Draco groaned. It seemed like the Weaselette was never away from Potter for more than two seconds, and watching them together was disgusting. He loved Hermione, but he didn't go around cooing and acting like a love-sick puppy.

"Don't listen to him Draco-"

"Malfoy."

"Don't listen to him Malfoy," Ginny said with an eye roll. He didn't know if it was because the annoying girl was Hermione best friend or what, but she had an annoying tendency to think that the two of them were now _friends _or something of the sort. "You have five minutes." Then she glared at her boyfriend and slapped his arm. "Can't you see that he's nervous? Don't you dare tell a worried groom to hurry up."

"I am not nervous," Draco drawled, taking one last look and liking that for once, he didn't look like his father. Sure, the hair was the same, and the eye color, but his face shone with a poorly concealed happiness that made all the difference in the world.

"Sure you aren't," Ginny said, ducking under Harry's arm and latching onto Draco's hand. "Now, are you ready?"

"Yes," he said with a sigh. Ginny beamed.

"Great. Come on."

Then she dragged Draco past Harry, who actually was decent enough to give an apologetic smile, and out into the courtyard of Malfoy Manor.

Draco tore his arm out of Hermione's grip once they were in public view, not wanting any of the spectators to see the ball of energy bouncing around his arm, and took his place in front of the alter. Moments later, the music started, and Hermione appeared on her father's (Draco still got nervous around her Muggle parents) arm.

His heart shot into his throat, and it was all he could do not to rush out there and wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless. She was beautiful. No, not just beautiful. Radiant. When Hermione reached him, he couldn't resist reaching over and taking her hands in his.

Vows were exchanged, and in no time, Kingsley uttered, "You may kiss the bride."

Very gently, Draco took her face in his hands and just barely brushed his lips to hers.

When he pulled back, Hermione stood there, looking at him with tears in her sparkling eyes. Draco knew that despite everything he'd been through, it was worth it. He'd do it again twenty times if he could still have Hermione after everything. He loved her, and no war, or evil wizards, or even despicable family members, could change that simple fact.

Just two years ago, he hated her. People would rank the possibility of him marrying her with Professor Snape getting together with McGonagall, or Neville getting an O in potions. But it happened. The impossibility had turned into a sweet miracle. It had to be some present from the Gods, and Draco was never, ever going to let that present go.


End file.
